A  CENTURY  AGO  IN  NEW  ENGLAND 
MARY  WILDER  WHITE 


MEMORIALS   OF 
MARY   WILDER   WHITE 

BY  ELIZABETH  AMELIA  DWIGHT 
EDITED  BY  MARY  WILDER  TILESTON 


A  CENTURY  AGO  IN  NEW  ENGLAND 


THE  EVERETT  PRESS  COMPANY 

BOSTON,  MASSACHUSETTS 

MCMIII 


Copyright,  1903,  by  Mary  Wilder  Tileston 


PREFACE 

thirty  years  ago,  at  the  request  of 
my  aunt,  Mrs.  William  Dwight,  I  assisted 
her  in  preparing  a  memorial  of  her  mother  by  mak- 
ing selections  from  her  letters,  while  she  supplied 
the  connecting  narrative.  It  was  intended  for  the 
descendants  only;  but  even  for  them  it  has  been  of 
little  use,  being  in  manuscript,  so  that  it  now  seems 
desirable  to  have  it  printed ;  and  I  feel  that  the  story 
of  my  grandmother's  life,  with  its  brave  and  buoyant 
spirit,  its  warm  affections  and  intellectual  delights, 
and  its  intense  religious  faith,  may  help  those  who 
are  living  through  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  our  own 
time. 

A  friend,  writing  after  her  death,  to  her  little 
daughter,  said  of  her,  "She  was  beautiful,  her  person 
small  and  delicate,  her  eyes  were  blue  and  had  a 
sweet  expression,  her  teeth  were  white  and  regular, 
her  smile  most  lovely, — but  of  this  beauty  she  seemed 
unconscious ;  her  thoughts  were  not  given  to  her  own 
charms  of  mind  or  person,  but  to  the  merits  or  the 
wants  of  others.  Her  powers  of  mind,  and  informa- 
tion on  all  subjects  worthy  of  attention,  were  as  un- 
common as  the  beauty  of  her  person,  and  a  modest 
sweetness  gave  a  charm  to  everything  she  said  or 
did."  Another  friend  wrote  of  her  as  "that  wonder- 
ful being  who  fascinates  all  hearts." 

During  her  short  life  she  passed  through  experi- 

[v] 


2039378 


PREFACE 

ences  of  unusual  interest  and  through  strange  trials. 
When  only  seventeen  years  old  she  became  engaged 
to  Antoine  Van  Schalkwyck,  a  young  West  Indian 
planter,  who  was  exiled  from  his  home  in  Guadeloupe 
during  the  years  following  the  French  Revolution. 
After  many  vicissitudes  and  anxieties  they  were 
married  in  1801,  when  she  was  twenty  years  old,  and 
not  long  after  sailed  for  Guadeloupe.  They  arrived 
at  an  unfortunate  moment :  the  island  was  in  a  state 
of  insurrection,  a  mulatto  having  just  been  put  in 
the  place  of  the  French  Commandant,  and  there  was 
general  distrust  and  terror.  Yellow  fever  was  raging 
violently,  and  in  three  weeks  from  the  day  they 
landed  her  idolized  brother,  who  had  accompanied 
her  on  account  of  her  husband's  ill-health,  died  of 
the  fever.  Three  weeks  later  her  husband  died,  leav- 
ing her  alone  in  a  foreign  land.  A  few  days  after 
this  a  plot  of  the  negroes  to  massacre  all  the  white 
inhabitants  was  discovered,  only  a  few  hours  before 
it  was  to  take  place,  and  she  had  to  fly  to  a  neigh- 
bouring island.  There  she  stayed  for  many  months, 
until  troops  arrived  from  France  and,  after  a  hard 
struggle,  put  down  the  insurrection  and  restored  or- 
der. She  was  desperately  ill  herself  with  yellow  fever 
and  a  succession  of  other  illnesses,  and  it  was  a  year 
before  she  could  return  to  her  friends. 

The  years  from  1802  to  1807  were  spent  in  her 
mother's  home  in  Concord,  Massachusetts.  Her  life 
was  enriched  by  friendships  with  Miss  Mary  Moody 
Emerson,  Miss  Susan  Cabot  Lowell,  and  others  who 

[vi] 


PREFACE 

like  herself  were  stirred  by  the  intellectual  and  spirit- 
ual influences  of  that  period,  which  has  been  called 
the  New  England  Renaissance ;  and  her  letters  are 
full  of  references  to  the  books  which  they  were  read- 
ing, as  well  as  to  the  subjects  of  thought  and  feeling 
which  interested  them.  Her  marriage  to  Daniel 
Appleton  White,  in  1807,  transferred  her  home  to 
Newburyport,  where  she  died  after  a  happy  married 
life  of  only  four  years. 

"It  is  not  growing  like  a  tree 

In  bulk,  doth  make  man  better  be ; 
Or  standing  long  an  oak,  three  hundred  year, 
To  fall  a  log  at  last,  dry,  bald,  and  sere ! 
A  lily  of  a  day 
Is  fairer  far  in  May, 
Although  it  fall  and  die  that  night, — 
It  was  the  plant  and  flower  of  Light. 
In  small  proportions  we  just  beauties  see ; 
And  in  short  measures  life  may  perfect  be." 

MARY  WILDER  TILESTON. 

Boston,  October,  1903. 

[vii] 


CONTENTS 

INTRODUCTION 

Early  recollections  of  Mrs.  Dwight,  xvii — description  of  Mrs. 
Hurd,  xviii-xx  pp.  xvii-xx 

CHAPTER  I 

1780-1796 — LANCASTER  AND  CONCORD:  CHILDHOOD 

Birth  and  parentage,  1 — death  of  brothers  and  sister,  1  — 
death  of  her  father,  Dr.  Wilder,  2,  3 —  Henry  Wilder,  4 — Flagg 
family,  5,  6 — Gershom  Flagg,  7  —  Hannah  Flagg,  8;  her  letter, 
9;  death,  10  —  Mary,  or  Polly,  Flagg  (Mrs.  Josiah  Wilder),  11; 
her  poems,  11-13;  letter  about  Mary  Wilder,  1 3 ;  and  from  her  at 
nine  years  old,  14  —  Mrs.  Wilder's  second  marriage,  to  Dr.  Hurd, 
and  removal  to  Concord,  15 — the  ideal  stepmother,  15,  16  — 
anecdote,  Betty,  Dr.  Kurd's  characteristics,  17,  18  —  Ruth  Hurd, 
18,  19 — Mary  Wilder's  song,  19 — education,  20.  pp.  1-20 

CHAPTER  II 
1796-1801 — CONCORD:  YOUTH 

Letter  to  Ruth  Hurd,  on  sensibility,  21 — Dr.  Jacob  Bigelow's 
recollections,  23,  24 — Mrs.  Radcliffe's  novels,  24 — letter  to  E. 
Bigelow,  on  balls,  24  —  engagement  to  Mr.  Van  Schalkwyck,  26 — 
account  of  him  and  of  M.  Blanchet,  26,  27 — letters  from  Baron 
Van  Schalkwyck,  28 — from  Mary  Wilder  to  Mr.  Van  Schalk- 
wyck, 29 — to  M.  Blanchet,  32,  33  —  from  H.  Wilder,  34 —  Henry 
Wilder  not  allowed  to  go  to  college,  35 — letters  from  M.  Blan- 
chet, 36,  37 — illness  of  Mr.  Van  Schalkwyck,  38;  and  marriage 
to  Mary  Wilder,  39 — letter  from  Madame  Courcelle,  39-41  — 
from  H.  Wilder  to  Mr.  Van  Schalkwyck,  41  ;  and  reply,  42 — they 
sail  for  Guadeloupe,  44.  pp.  21-44 

[ix] 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  III 
OCTOBER-DECEMBER,  1 801 — GUADELOUPE 

Letters  describing  voyage  and  arrival  from  H.  Wilder,  45,  and 
Mary  Van  Schalkwyck,  47, — insurrection  just  taken  place,  45, 
46,  50,  51 — death  of  H.  Wilder,  from  yellow  fever,  53 — letter 
of  his  sister  to  Rev.  Mr.  Ripley,  53-55 — her  tributes  to  the 
memory  of  her  brother,  55-59  —  illness  and  death  of  Mr.  Van 
Schalkwyck,  61 — plot  of  negroes  to  massacre  all  the  whites,  62 — 
newspaper  account  of  it,  63,  64 — flight  to  a  neighbouring  island, 
62.  pp.  45-65 

CHAPTER  IV 
JANUARY-OCTOBER,  1802 — GUADELOUPE 

Attack  of  yellow  fever,  67 — arrival  of  troops  from  France,  76 
— skirmishes  and  battles,  78,  85,  87 — letter  from  Mrs.  Hurd, 
79-82 — obituaries  of  H.  Wilder,  83,  and  Mr.  Van  Schalkwyck, 
84 — incendiary  fires,  86,  88,  90 — success  of  French  troops,  87 
— fever,  91 — return  to  Concord,  Q4>  —  accounts  of  yellow  fever 
at  that  period,  95,  96.  pp.  66-96 

CHAPTER  V 
OCTOBER-DECEMBER,  1 802  — CONCORD 

Home  in  Concord,  97  —  Miss  Ann  Bromfield,  98-100;  letters 
to  her,  100 — to  Grace  Hurd,  101 — to  unknown  address,  on  balm- 
of-Gilead  tree  and  H.  Wilder,  102,  103 — account  of  Mr.  Frisbie, 
103-106 — letter  from  D.  A.  White  to  Professor  Norton,  104-106 
— from  Mary  Van  Schalkwyck  to  Mr.  Frisbie,  on  melancholy, 
1 06 — Mr.  Rockwood,  1 07  —  Mr.  Samuel  Hoar,  1 08.  pp.  97- 1 08 

CHAPTER  VI 
1803 — CONCORD:  LETTERS  TO  FRIENDS;  Miss  MARY  EMERSON 

To  Mr.  Rockwood,  on  woman's  abilities,  109-111  — account  of 
Miss  Mary  Moody  Emerson  by  Miss  Hoar,  112-117;  and  others, 

[*] 


CONTENTS 

1 17-120 — letters  by  Mrs.  Samuel  Ripley,  118,  119 — letters  from 
M.  Van  Schalkwyck  to  A.  Bromfield,  on  sensibility,  124;  on  love  of 
nature,  127;  on  Ossian,  138;  on  Cowper,  139;  on  low  spirits,  1 46 ; 
on  Klopstock,  147;  on  conversation  and  correspondence,  149  — 
about  Dr.  Ripley,  125 — to  Sarah  Ripley,  on  death  of  Dr.  Wilder, 
126 — to  M.  M.  Emerson,  on  friendship,  128-131  —  defending  a 
friend,  131 — first  letter  to  Mrs.  Lee,  132;  her  reply,  133;  to  Mrs. 
Lee,  on  Florian,  135 ;  on  Sully,  1 37 ;  weather  and  health,  142 ;  on 
the"British  Spy,"  150 — from  Mrs.  Lee, about  society,  139-141 — 
to  Mr.  Rockwood,  on  fashionable  follies,  136 — talk  by  Mr.  Fris- 
bie,  on  Mrs.  Radcliffe's  novels,  141 — to  R.  Hurd,  on  pointing  out 
faults,  144;  and  on  conversation,  145 — letter  to  Mr.  Rockwood, 
about  the  Moravians,  151,  152  —  records  of  inner  life,  154-156 — 
prayer,  156.  pp.  109-156 

CHAPTER  VII 
1804 — CONCORD:  LETTERS  TO  FRIENDS 

Prayer,  by  Mrs.  Hurd,  157 — letters  from  M.  Van  Schalkwyck 
to  Mr.  Rockwood,  on  winter  and  love  of  money,  159-161 — to  A. 
Bromfield,  on  New  Year's  day,  l6l ;  on  a  journey  from  Charles- 
town,  164 — from  Sally  Hurd,  about  an  escort,  162 — account  of 
Miss  Susan  Lowell,  166-168 — journal,  168-173 — letter  about 
Milton,  174 — to  Ruth  Hurd,  on  men  and  women,  177;  the  wall- 
flower, 180;  on  humility,  194;  on  Buckminster,  201 — letter 
from  Ruth  Hurd,  200 — to  Sarah  Ripley,  on  writing,  sweet  flow- 
ers, etc.,  183-185 — to  Rev.  Wm.  Emerson,  186 — contributions  to 
the  "Monthly  Anthology,"  186-191 — letter  on  early  death,  191 
— playful  letter  to  Mr.  Rockwood,  193 — to  Susan  Lowell,  on 
autumn,  197 — prayer,  204.  pp.  157-205 

CHAPTER  VIII 
1805 — CONCORD:  LETTERS  TO  FRIENDS 

To  Mrs.  Lee,  on  stage-coach  journey  from  Lancaster,  206 ;  on 
Euler,  213 — to  A.  Bromfield,  on  fraternal  affection,  209;  on  Mrs. 

[xi] 


CONTENTS 

Klopstock,  21 1 ;  on  Charming,  218 ;  on  a  golden  elm  tree,  219  — 
to  S.  Lowell,  on  the  Moravians,  210;  on  the  country  and  the 
theatre,  212 — to  Benjamin  Hurd,  on  the  French,  and  religious 
duties,  2 13-2 16 — diary,  217,218 — first  mention  of  Daniel  Apple- 
ton  White,  220 — letter  to  Mr.  Rogers,  on  dejection,  221. 

pp.  206-223 
CHAPTER  IX 

1806 — CONCORD:  ENGAGEMENT  TO  D.  A.  WHITE 

Letter  to  Mrs.  Lee,  on  accession  of  fortune,  224 — to  Ann  Brom- 
field,  on  Mr.  Hoar,  225 ;  on  "Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,"  248 — to 
S.  Lowell,  on  Mr.  Frisbie,  226,  228 — to  S.  Lowell,  R.  Kurd,  and 
A.  Bromfield,  on  the  illness  of  Betsy  Hurd,  229,  230,  232,  233, 
234;  and  death  of  Betsy  Hurd,  234,  235,  236 — lost  in  the  woods, 
238 — engagement  of  Ruth  Hurd,  239 — death  of  Grandfather 
Thompson,  239 — diary,  241,  249-251 — letter  from  S.  Ripley  to 
M.  M.  Emerson,  about  first  meeting  of  D.  A.  White  and  M.  Van 
Schalkwyck,  243 — M.  M.  Emerson,  on  Niagara,  245 — illness  in 
Charlestown,  247 — Benjamin  Kurd's  illness,  239,  249;  death, 
252 — engagement  to  D.  A.  White,  251  pp.  224-252 

CHAPTER  X 
JANUARY-MAY,  1807 — CONCORD:  ENGAGEMENT 

Correspondence  with  Daniel  Appleton  White,  253-310 — sym- 
pathy in  sorrow,  254 — death  of  B.  Hurd,  255,  256,  257 — jour- 
nal, 258,  259 — Saurin's  sermons,  26l — "Rasselas,"  265,  266 — 
letter  from  Mr.  Frisbie,  269 — journey  in  snow-storm,  270 — lung- 
fever,  274 — good  morning,  283  —  Lavater  and  social  silence,  285, 
288  —  Dr.  Ratcliffe,  on  colds,  287 — on  causing  pain  and  anxiety, 
290,  291 — dedication  to  God,  276,  292 — finding  a  house, 
295 — house-furnishing,  298,  299,  309 — visit  in  Charlestown, 
300-310 — sincerity,  300 — holy  communion,  302,  305  — on  tem- 
porary homes,  303 — rainy  drive,  304 — manifestation  of  affection, 
306 — busy  with  a  mantua-maker,  308 — voice  and  smile,  309 — 
return  to  Concord,  for  marriage,  309-  pp.  253-310 

[xii] 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XI 
MAY-DECEMBER,  1807  — NEWBURYPORT 

Marriage  to  D.  A.  White,  and  removal  to  Newburyport,  311  — 
letter  from  Miss  Bromfield,  312  —  sitting  up  for  company,  312, 
313  —  Mrs.  Eliot  in  Boston,  313  —  Mrs.  Susan  Newton,  313  — 
Grandmother  Atkins,  314,  315,  31 6,  318  —  Mrs.  Searle,  314,  315 
—  Miss  Fanny  Scale,  315;  her  letter  describing  Mrs.  White,  315 
— Margaret  Searle,  on  Mr.  White,  319.  pp.  311-321 

CHAPTER  XII 
1 808  —  NEWBURYPORT 

Letter  from  Mrs.  Hurd,  on  the  Democrats,  322 — birth,  323, 
illness,  326,  327,  and  death,  327,  of  first  child — thunder-storm, 
324  —  bad  times,  326  —  visit  to  Concord,  328-331 — maternal 
affection,  323,  324.  pp.  322-331 

CHAPTER  XIII 
1809 — NEWBURYPORT 

Removal  to  State  Street,  332— letter  to  Mary  H.  Eliot,  332  — 
to  Margaret  Searle,  333 — birth  of  second  daughter,  334  —  Sally 
Kurd's  illness,  335,  336;  death,  337 — letter  to  F.  Searle,  on  love 
of  nature,  336 — to  D.  A.  White,  " bubble,  bubble,"  338 — to  F. 
Searle,  on  Mrs.  Grant  and  baby  speech,  339,  340. 

pp.  332-340 

CHAPTER  XIV 

1810  —  NEWBURYPORT 

Letter  to  Ruth  Hurd,  on  dancing,  341 — Mrs.  Kurd's  philos- 
ophy, 343;  and  on  Democrats,  344,  345,  347 — a  green  bonnet, 
346 — hemorrhage  of  the  lungs,  346 — letter  of  Dr.  S.  Johnson, 
348 — birth  of  third  daughter,  349.  pp.  341-349 

[xiii] 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XV 
1811 — NEWBURYPORT  :  ILLNESS  AND  DEATH 

Letters  to  and  from  her  husband,  in  Massachusetts  Senate, 
350-375:  the  bed  an  altar,  351;  Democratic  machinations,  352, 
353,  362,  363 ;  the  actor  Cooke,  352,  355,  357 ;  sermons  of  Chan- 
ning,  355,  359;  imperfect  devotions,  357;  dangers  of  theatre, 
357;  very  severe  snow-storm,  359-362 — increased  illness,  366  — 
letters  by  Miss  Emerson,  372,  373  —  last  letter  from  D.  A.  White, 
375 — the  great  Newburyport  fire,  376-378 — calmness  and  seren- 
ity in  danger,  377 — general  vaccination  in  Concord,  379 — last 
hours,  379 — from  Miss  Bromfield's  diary,  379-381  — tribute  and 
poem  by  Fanny  Searle,  382,  383 ;  by  Sarah  Searle,  384,  385 ;  by 
Margaret  Searle,  385 — obituary  from  the  "Port-Folio,"  385-388 
—epitaph,  388 — death  of  Mrs.  Hurd,  389.  pp.  350-389 

APPENDIX 

The  Wilder  Genealogy,  391  —The  Flagg  Genealogy,  391,  392 
—The  White  Genealogy,  392,  393 — List  of  books  read  by  the 
subject  of  this  memorial,  393-395.  pp.  391-395 

[xiv] 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Silhouette  of  Mary  Wilder  White.  1807  Facing  title-page 

Portrait  of  James  Flagg,  attributed  to  Smibert.  1744  (?)  Facing  p.  5 

Portrait  of  Gershom  Flagg,  painted  by  Robert  Feke.  1746  (?) 

Facing  p.  7 
Portrait  of  Hannah  Flagg,  painted  by  Robert  Feke.  1746  (?) 

Facing  p.  8 
Portrait  of  Mary  (Polly)  Flagg,  attributed  to  Blackburn.  1753 

Facing  p.  10 

House  of  Dr.  Hurd,  Concord,  Massachusetts,  from  water- 
colour  sketch  by  Henry  Wilder.  1801  Facing  p.  97 

Facsimile  of  handwriting  Facing  p.  133 

Silhouette  of  Daniel  Appleton  White.  1807  Facing  p.  242 

Silhouette  of  Mary  Wilder  White.  1808  Facing  p.  324 

Silhouette  of  Mrs.  Polly  Hurd.  1810  Facing  p.  348 

[XV] 


INTRODUCTION 

MY  mother  died  when  I  was  but  two  years  old, 
yet  such  was  her  hold  upon  my  affections  dur- 
ing the  short  period  she  was  with  me  that  the  void 
created  by  her  death  was  at  once  filled  by  her  mem- 
ory. My  earliest  recollection  is  of  being  lifted  on 
to  her  bed,  where  I  was  often  permitted  to  lie  be- 
side her  during  the  lingering  illness  which  preceded 
her  death.  Another  recollection  which  haunted  my 
childhood  is  before  me  now.  I  see  the  darkened 
room,  the  mysterious  casket,  my  father's  face  and 
figure  as  he  stood  near  it,  the  gloom  upon  the  coun- 
tenances of  all  present,  the  appearance  of  the  uncle 
who  held  me  up  in  his  arms  that  I  might  see  the 
face  of  her  with  whom  "death  had  made  his  dark- 
ness beautiful."  My  father  has  told  me  that,  after 
one  look,  I  was  taken  from  the  room,  apparently  in 
an  agony  of  grief  and  fear;  but  of  that  I  have  no 
recollection,  while  my  mother's  face,  "as  it  had  been 
the  face  of  an  angel,"  was  then  deeply  imprinted  on 
my  memory,  to  bless  me  throughout  my  life. 

My  father's  first  object,  after  my  mother's  death, 
seemed  to  be  to  give,  as  far  as  possible,  to  the  two 
daughters  who  survived  her  an  idea  of  her  charac- 
ter. In  our  earliest  years,  as  in  later  ones,  he  was  in 
the  habit  of  talking  of  her  to  us  as  of  a  superior  be- 
ing. When  we  reached  the  ages  of  six  and  seven  he 
began  to  read  to  us  from  her  letters.  Other  friends, 

[xvii] 


INTRODUCTION 

who  cherished  her  memory,  attempted  to  describe 
to  us  her  beautiful  person  and  manners.  All  that 
was  said  of  her,  as  well  as  her  own  writings,  har- 
monized with  the  image  I  had  of  her  in  my  heart, 
and  helped  to  make  her  a  living  presence  there. 

My  mother's  mother  lived  till  I  was  twelve  years 
old,  giving  to  her  "dear  little  girls,"  as  she  called 
the  children  of  her  "beloved  Mary,"  a  mother's  love. 
Her  life  was  interwoven  with  that  of  my  mother, 
whose  death,  she  said,  "broke  the  last  tie  that 
bound  her  to  earth."  Their  memories  are  insepara- 
bly blended  in  my  mind,  claiming  an  equal  tribute 
of  affection  and  respect.  Among  the  most  interest- 
ing recollections  of  my  childhood  are  the  visits  my 
sister  and  I,  driving  with  our  father  in  the  tradi- 
tional one-horse  chaise,  made  to  our  grandmother, 
in  Concord. 

Although  at  the  time  I  first  remember  her  she 
must  have  been  not  more  than  sixty-five  years  old, 
she  was,  to  my  young  eyes,  venerable  in  appear- 
ance— made  more  so,  doubtless,  by  the  close  cap 
of  white  muslin,  with  band  of  black  ribbon,  and  the 
severely  plain  black  dress  and  white  inside  handker- 
chief, which  was  the  costume  of  the  period  for  la- 
dies advanced  in  years.  I  have  a  silhouette  taken 
of  her  at  sixty  which  recalls,  not  only  the  dress,  but 
also  her  head  and  face.  She  had  lost  her  voice, 
years  before,  through  severe  illness,  and  spoke  only 
in  a  whisper.  Her  manner  was  gentle  and  affec- 
tionate, with  a  tinge  of  sadness.  In  looking  back 

[xviii] 


upon  her,  after  an  interval  of  more  than  half  a  cen- 
tury, my  principal  recollection  is  of  the  extreme 
tenderness  with  which  she  always  welcomed  and 
parted  from  us.  I  was  too  young  to  appreciate  her 
character,  but  all  that  I  remember  of  her  accords 
with  my  father's  high  estimate  of  her  worth,  and 
with  that  of  others  who  knew  her  intimately  and 
are  well  qualified  to  describe  her  justly.  "Pure  at 
heart  and  sound  in  head, "they  represent  her.  "The 
finest  character  I  ever  knew,"  says  one  who,  for 
years,  enjoyed  her  friendship  and  confidence.  An- 
other, the  last  remaining  niece,  writes  to  me  of  her: 
"  Your  grandmother  was,  indeed,  a  woman  of  un- 
common mind,  and,  under  many  sorrows,  of  great 
self-control."  Strong  religious  faith,  under  the  vicis- 
situdes of  life,  was  conspicuous  in  her  as  it  was  in 
my  mother.  Their  habit  of  tracing  every  circum- 
stance of  their  lives  directly  to  God  enabled  them 
to  enter  fully  into  the  spirit  of  the  Psalms,  and 
supplied  them,  as  it  did  David  of  old,  with  a  con- 
tinual flood  of  devotional  feeling.  Indeed,  as  I  have 
pored  over  their  papers,  now  yellowed  by  time,  I 
have  felt  that  St.  Paul's  "dearly  beloved  son  Tim- 
othy" had  not,  in  "the  faith  which  dwelt  in  his 
grandmother  Lois,  and  his  mother  Eunice,"  a  more 
precious  legacy  than  that  which  my  grandmother 
and  mother  have  bequeathed  to  their  children  and 
children's  children. 

Nearly  all  of  those  who  knew  them  personally 
have  passed  away.  Only  a  few  remain  who  love  to 

[xix] 


INTRODUCTION 

speak  of  my  grandmother's  disinterested  kindness 
and  hospitality,  and  who  kindle,  in  their  old  age,  as 
they  recall  the  charm  and  power  of  my  mother's 
influence  over  them  in  their  youth.  But  we  are  not 
wholly  dependent  upon  the  recollections  of  friends 
for  our  knowledge  of  what  they  were.  Fortunately 
for  us,  they  lived  in  the  age  of  letter- writing, — "the 
old  familiar  letters,  for  the  absence  of  which  neither 
biography  nor  memoir  will  ever  quite  make  up." 
Many  of  my  mother's  letters,  and  some,  not  less 
valued,  of  my  grandmother's,  have  been  preserved. 
With  the  exception  of  those  of  my  mother's  which 
were  written  while  she  was  in  the  West  Indies,  and 
which  contain  events  of  unusual  interest,  these  let- 
ters are  valuable,  mainly,  as  illustrating  the  minds 
and  characters  of  the  writers,  and  furnishing  the 
means  of  perpetuating  their  memories,  which  should 
not  be  permitted  to  die.  If  with  these  letters  I  am 
enabled  to  prepare  a  memorial  of  them  which  shall 
tend  to  awaken  the  love  and  reverence  of  their  de- 
scendants, I  shall  have  accomplished  the  object  I 
have  at  heart. 

ELIZABETH  AMELIA  DWIGHT. 

Broolcline,  1875. 

[XX] 


CHAPTER  I 

1780-1796 
CHILDHOOD :  LANCASTER  AND  CONCORD 

MY  mother's  maiden  name  was  Mary  Wilder. 
She  was  the  daughter  of  Dr.  Josiah  Wilder, 
of  Lancaster,  Massachusetts.1  He  was  born  on  May 
27,  1744,  graduated  at  Yale  College  in  1767,  and 
became  a  physician.  He  settled  first  in  Boston,  and 
then  in  Lancaster,  where  he  was  an  active  citizen, 
influential  in  town  affairs,  and  an  ardent  patriot.  On 
August  28, 1774,  he  married  Mary  Flagg,  daughter 
of  Gershom  and  Hannah  (Pitson)  Flagg. 
Their  children  were: 

William  Pitt,  b.  June  11,  1775,  d.  Sept.  1,  1778. 
Henry,  b.  March  27,  1777,  d.  Sept.  19,  1778. 
Mary,  b.  Aug.  22,  1778,  d.  Sept.  17,  1778. 
Augustus,  b.  Nov.  4,  1779,  d.  Nov.  16,  1779. 
Mary,  b.  Oct.  8,  1780,  d.  June  29,  1811. 
Henry,  b.  April  27,  1782,  d.  Nov.  12,  1801. 

This  list  of  births  and  deaths  tells  a  sad  story  of 
bereavement.  When  my  grandmother's  third  child 
was  only  ten  days  old,  her  oldest  child  died  (of  scar- 
let fever,  as  I  have  been  told),  sixteen  days  later  her 
baby  died,  and  two  days  later  her  last  remaining 
child.  She  herself  was  ill  with  the  fever,  and  ap- 

1  See  Wilder  Genealogy  in  Appendix. 

[i] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE     [ITBO-ITW 

parently  died.  The  undertaker,  when  about  to  lay 
her  in  the  coffin,  thought  he  saw  signs  of  life,  and 
summoned  her  husband.  She  was  resuscitated,  but 
never  regained  her  voice  fully,  being  able  only  to 
whisper. 

My  grandfather  died  in  Lancaster,  December  20, 
1788,  at  the  age  of  forty-four.  The  little  that  I  know 
of  him  is  quickly  told.  I  have  an  extract  from  a  let- 
ter, written  evidently  in  1780,  before  my  mother's 
birth,  by  my  grandmother's  youngest  sister,  Grizzel 
Apthorp  Flagg  (afterwards  Mrs.  Gould),  to  a  rela- 
tive in  Rhode  Island,  in  which  she  gives  an  account 
of  various  members  of  the  family.  Of  my  grand- 
mother she  says:  "My  sister  Polly  is  married  to  a 
doctor,  as  worthy  a  man  as  now  lives.  In  a  partner 
she  is  one  of  the  happiest  of  women,  but  of  the  bit- 
ter cup  of  affliction  she  has  drank  often,  and  in  large 
draughts.  She  has  been  the  mother  of  four  smiling 
babes,  but  has  been  deprived  of  all  by  that  hand 
that  has  an  undoubted  right  to  take  when  He  pleases. 
She  lost  three  in  seventeen  days, — one  aged  three 
years,  one  of  seventeen  months,  and  one  of  one 
month, — and  in  a  year  after,  one  of  three  weeks. 
But  she  and  her  companion  say,  *  The  Lord  gave ; 
the  Lord  hath  taken  away,'  and  I  believe  they  are 
careful  to  add,  'Blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord.' 
Such  patterns  of  resignation,  were  you  to  see  them, 
you  would  think  were  not  often  to  be  found." 

The  view  here  given  of  my  grandfather's  Chris- 
tian faith  and  resignation  is  the  same  that  I  find  in 

[2] 


1 780-1 T96] 

the  following  extract  from  one  of  my  mother's  let- 
ters, to  whom  addressed  does  not  appear.  The  letter 
is  dated  Concord,  June  29,  1803.  She  says:  "I  wit- 
nessed at  a  very  early  age  the  power  of  religion,  not 
only  in  enabling  man  to  sustain  misfortune,  but  to 
meet  death  undaunted.  My  father  was  in  the  me- 
ridian of  life,  his  prospects  flattering,  his  situation 
agreeable.  He  had  a  virtuous  and  affectionate  wife, 
a  son  whose  opening  childhood  promised  everything 
good  and  lovely,  and  a  daughter  whose  extreme 
youth  demanded  all  his  paternal  care,  when  he  was 
attacked  by  a  consumption.  Soon  convinced  his  dis- 
order was  remediless,  he  relinquished  the  idea  of 
recovery,  and  then  was  the  triumph  of  Christianity. 
Assured  that  all  events  are  conducted  by  Infinite 
Wisdom  and  Goodness,  he  cheerfully  submitted  to 
the  disposal  of  Him  who  cannot  err.  He  arranged 
his  affairs,  he  marked  the  spot  where  he  wished  his 
body  might  repose,  and,  convinced  that  the  Al- 
mighty is  '  the  Father  of  the  fatherless  and  the  wid- 
ow's God  and  Judge,'  he  committed  us  to  His  care, 
and  then  awaited  the  approach  of  death  with  a  sub- 
lime serenity  which  had  more  the  air  of  triumph 
than  of  dread.  O  my  father,  what  gave  thy  sun 
this  glorious  setting,  what  enabled  thee  to  quit  life 
so  cheerfully,  when  it  was  so  pleasant  to  thyself,  so 
desirable  to  thy  family!  Thine  own  words  instruct 
me, — 'a  calm  conscience,  a  reliance  on  thy  God,  and 
a  bright  hope  of  an  eternity  of  progressive  virtue 
and  happiness.'" 

[8] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE     [ITBO-ITW 

This  tribute  of  my  mother's  to  my  grandfather 
has  given  me,  from  childhood,  a  tender  interest  in 
his  memory,  which  was  fostered  by  my  father.  At 
an  early  age  my  sister  and  I  were  taught  to  repeat  my 
grandfather's  words,  as  here  quoted  by  my  mother. 
I  remember,  too,  when  we  were  quite  little  girls,  as 
we  were  returning  from  Springfield,  where  we  had 
been  visiting,  to  our  home  in  Salem  (a  journey  which, 
taken  in  a  private  conveyance,  then  occupied  several 
days),  he  went  out  of  the  direct  route  to  pass  through 
Lancaster,  that  we  might  see  our  mother's  birth- 
place, where  she  lived  the  first  nine  years  of  her  life, 
and  where  our  grandfather  Wilder  was  "the  beloved 
physician." 

Henry  Wilder,  the  only  son  of  my  grandfather 
who  survived  him,  more  than  fulfilled  the  promise 
in  opening  childhood  of  which  my  mother  speaks  in 
the  letter  already  quoted.  Mrs.  Rapallo,  a  niece  of 
my  grandmother,  and  daughter  of  Mrs.  Gould,  says 
of  my  grandmother's  family:  "Looking  back  into 
the  past  with  a  desire  to  record  some  of  my  early  im- 
pressions, my  first  recollections  of  them  in  my  child- 
hood are  not  very  distinct.  I  have  only  the  faint  rec- 
ollection of  the  vision  of  a  youth  more  beautiful  than 
anything  I  had  ever  seen, — he  was  called  Henry.  I 
saw  him  only  once,  but  I  never  lost  the  memory  of 
that  face."  From  other  sources  it  is  evident  that  his 
mind  and  character  were  correspondent  to  his  face. 
My  mother  loved  him  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of 
her  nature.  His  early  death,  under  circumstances  pe- 

[4] 


1780-1796]  CHILDHOOD 

culiarly  distressing  to  her,  was  the  sorrow  which 
overshadowed  the  remaining  years  of  her  life.  Her 
letters  and  manuscripts  show  with  what  devotion 
she  cherished  his  memory. 

In  the  same  letter  from  which  I  have  just  quoted, 
Mrs.  Rapallo  speaks  of  my  mother  as  "one  whom, 
in  childhood,  I  thought  nearer  to  perfection  than  any 
other  human  being,  and  whose  loveliness,  after  four- 
score years  passed  away,  is  fresh  in  memory." 

My  grandmother  was  born  October  25, 1750,  the 
sixth  child  of  Gershom  and  Hannah  Flagg.  Gershom 
Flagg  was  born  in  Boston,  April  20,  1705.1  In  1730 
he  married  Lydia  Callender. 

His  second  marriage,  to  Hannah  Pitson,  the  mother 
of  all  his  children,  took  place  on  January  4,  1737. 
They  had  seven  children,  three  sons  and  four  daugh- 
ters. Their  first  child,  Ebenezer,  died  young.  Their 
next  child,  James,  a  merchant,  settled  in  Gardiner, 
Maine,  in  1762,  but  afterwards  removed  to  Boston, 
and  died  in  the  West  Indies,  of  yellow  fever,  un- 
married, in  1775.  After  his  death,  a  tract  of  land  be- 
longing to  him,  on  the  Kennebec,  near  Norridge- 
wock,  fifteen  miles  long  by  half  a  mile  wide,  was  sold 
for  the  small  sum  of  nineteen  pounds,  five  shillings. 
The  next  child,  Hannah,  married  the  Hon.  Joseph 
North,  and  settled  in  Hallowell,  Maine.  Gershom, 
the  third  son,  also  settled  in  Maine,  and  died  in  May, 
1802. 

The  fifth  child  was  Elizabeth,  who  married,  first, 

1  See  Flagg  Genealogy  in  Appendix. 

[5] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE      [1780-1796 

Henry  Wells  (a  brother  of  the  wife  of  the  patriot 
Samuel  Adams),  and,  afterwards,  the  Rev.  Jacob 
Bigelow  of  Sudbury. 

My  grandmother,  who  survived  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Bigelow  only  a  few  years,  wrote  of  their  death,  which 
occurred  in  1817,  as  follows:  "The  death  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Bigelow,  and  that  of  their  two  sons,  has  made 
a  breach  in  Sudbury  which  casts  a  gloom  over  the 
town.  The  earnest  desire  of  my  brother  and  sister 
was  that  they  might  not  long  be  separated.  It  was 
granted,  and  if  a  life  of  practical  piety  could  give 
them  happiness,  they  undoubtedly  have  it."  Their 
son,  Dr.  Jacob  Bigelow,  has  added  lustre  to  the 
name  of  his  parents,  fulfilling  the  prediction  of  my 
mother,  who,  when  he  was  yet  young  and  undevel- 
oped, said  of  him,  "  He  will  take  the  front  rank  in 
whatsoever  profession  he  enters,  and  become  a  dis- 
tinguished man." 

My  grandmother,  who,  though  named  Mary,  was 
called,  after  the  fashion  of  the  day,  Polly,  was  next 
in  age  to  her  sister  Elizabeth,  between  whom  and 
herself,  Dr.  Bigelow  has  told  me,  a  great  affection 
and  intimacy  existed. 

The  youngest  child  of  this  family  was  Grizzel 
Apthorp  Flagg,  from  whose  letter  we  have  quoted. 
She  married  Captain  Benjamin  Gould  of  the  army, 
and  was  the  mother,  among  other  children,  of  Ben- 
jamin Apthorp  Gould,  of  the  Boston  Latin  School, 
and  of  Hannah  F.  Gould,  the  poetess.  She  died  Jan- 
uary 19,  1827,  aged  seventy-three  years.  To  her 

[6] 


i78o-i79«i  CHILDHOOD 

youngest  child.  Mrs.  Rapallo,  and  to  Dr.  Bigelow, 
I  am  indebted  for  recollections  of  the  past. 

From  family  records,  it  appears  that  my  great- 
grandfather, Gershom  Flagg,  was  an  architect  by 
profession.  He  was  employed  at  the  rebuilding  of 
Fort  Richmond  on  the  Kennebec  in  1740,  and  went 
with  Governor  Pownal  to  the  Penobscot  in  1759, 
as  a  contractor  in  constructing  Fort  Pownal.  He  was 
a  proprietor  in  the  Plymouth  Company,  and  lands 
in  Augusta,  Maine,  were  assigned  to  him  in  the  dis- 
tribution. On  the  lot  in  Augusta  a  compact  part  of 
the  city  was  afterwards  built.  The  lands  on  the  Ken- 
nebec developed  enough  in  his  lifetime  to  make  him 
wealthy  for  the  times.  It  is  to  be  inferred  that  he 
was  a  freemason,  from  the  squares  and  compasses  on 
the  head-stone  of  his  grave  in  the  Granary  Burying- 
ground,  in  Boston.  At  the  time  of  his  death  he  had 
large  possessions  in  real  estate  in  Boston,  including 
a  homestead  of  many  acres,  with  extensive  garden, 
richly  cultivated.  This  was  his  home  until  a  short 
time  before  his  death,  when  he  removed  with  his 
family  to  the  town  of  Harvard,  in  order  to  be  out 
of  the  way  of  danger  to  them  when  the  anticipated 
hostilities  between  this  and  the  mother  country 
should  break  out.  In  Harvard  he  occupied  the  house 
belonging  to  Henry  Bromfield,  Esquire.  This  house 
is  described  by  Dr.  Slade,  in  his  account  of  the  Brom- 
field  family,  as  "situated  amidst  avenues  of  lofty 
elms,  of  venerable  appearance,  with  gambrel  roof,  and 
quaint  chimneys,  suggestive  of  home  comforts." 

[7] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE     [nso-me 

Mrs.  Rapallo,  in  giving  me  her  recollections  of 
the  past,  says,  "  Some  time  after  the  removal  of  the 
family  to  Harvard  my  grandfather  went  to  Boston 
on  business.  He  said  to  a  friend,  when  he  retired  at 
night,  that  he  did  not  feel  very  well,  and,  in  the 
morning,  he  was  found  dead  in  his  bed."  From  other 
sources,  I  learn  that  "he  died  suddenly  at  Brattle 
Tavern  in  School  St.  on  the  23rd  of  March,  1771, 
aged  sixty-six." 

My  grandmother's  mother,  Hannah  Pitson,  was  a 
daughter  of  James  Pitson,  who  "was  admitted  in- 
habitant of  Boston  in  1714,"in  which  year  the  records 
show  "he,  being  a  stranger,  comes  well  recom- 
mended." The  inference  is  that  he  had  but  recently 
emigrated  from  England.  Portraits  in  oil  of  Mrs. 
Flagg  and  her  husband,  which  have  descended  to  us, 
show  them  both  to  have  been  of  commanding  pres- 
ence and  decided  personal  attraction.1 

From  some  of  Mrs.  Flagg's  descendants  I  learn 
that,  though  living  in  affluence,  she  was  a  careful 
and  thrifty  housewife,  who  educated  her  daughters 
in  all  domestic  duties,  the  rule  being  that,  as  they 
became  of  suitable  age,  they  should  take  turns  as 
housekeepers.  We  have  an  interesting  illustration  of 

1  They  were  painted  by  Robert  Feke,  one  of  the  earliest  of  the  colonial 
painters.  He  was  descended  from  a  Dutch  family,  who  settled  at  Oyster 
Bay,  Long  Island.  It  is  said  that,  having  been  taken  prisoner  and  car- 
ried to  Spain,  he  there  learned  to  paint,  and  on  his  return  home  settled 
at  Newport,  R.  I.  He  worked  also  at  New  York,  and  in  1746,  at  Philadel- 
phia, where  his  portraits  have  been  considered  the  best  after  those  of 
West.  He  subsequently  went  to  Bermuda  for  his  health,  and  died  there, 
at  the  age  of  forty-four. — ED. 

[8] 


1780-1796]  CHILDHOOD 

what  Mrs.  Flagg  was  as  a  wife  in  a  venerable-look- 
ing paper  which  my  great-grandfather  has  marked 
"August  2nd,  1754.  A  letter  from  my  spouse."  I 
copy  the  letter  as  follows: 

"August  2nd,  1754. 

"My  Dear, — I  wrote  yesterday,  but,  having  still 
an  opportunity,  am  glad  to  lay  hold  of  it,  and  let 
you  know  that  I  have  just  received  yours  by  Mr. 
Willard,  and  am  very  sorry  to  hear  of  your  hard- 
ships. Hope  you  will  make  the  more  haste  home, 
where  I  shall  do  my  endeavour  to  make  it  up  to  you 
if  I  can.  I  long  to  have  you  come  home  upon  my 
own  account,  your  children's,  and  your  business,  but 
as  much  on  account  of  your  hard  fare  and  being  ex- 
posed. I  was  full  of  expectations  of  your  being  home 
in  a  month  or  thereabout,  but  must  submit  to  the 
disposal  of  Providence.  We  know  that  no  afflictions 
are  joyous,  but  grievous.  If  they,  afterwards,  yield 
the  peaceable  fruits  of  righteousness,  it  will  be  well. 
If  I  knew  of  anything  that  would  persuade  you  more 
than  what  I  have  mentioned,  I  should  try."  [After 
some  almost  illegible  lines  in  reference  to  a  neigh- 
bour, which  are  of  no  interest  to  us,  she  adds]  "  I  sent 
you  a  few  beans  by  Mr.  Faden.  I  know  not  whether 
you  received  them  or  not.  I  now  send  a  basket  of 
cucumbers  and  a  ham  of  bacon,  and  six  pair  of  shoes 
and  pumps  by  Mr. ,  who  has  promised  to  con- 
vey them  to  you.  He  has  this  moment  come  for  it. 

Yours,  in  haste, 

HANNAH  FLAGG." 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

I  learn  from  Mrs.  Rapallo  that  the  latter  years 
of  Mrs.  Flagg's  life,  after  her  husband's  death,  were 
spent  with  her  daughter,  Mrs.  Wilder,  in  Lancaster, 
where  she  died  October  13, 1784.  This  account  coin- 
cides with  that  given  of  Mrs.  Flagg  by  her  young- 
est daughter,  in  the  letter  from  which  we  have  al- 
ready made  one  extract,  and  which,  though  without 
date,  contains  proof  of  being  written  either  at  the 
close  of  1779,  or  early  in  1780.  The  record,  though 
not  a  cheerful  one,  is  valuable  as  containing  all  we 
know  of  the  closing  years  of  her  life.  "My  Mama  is 
with  my  sister  Polly.  Since  my  father's  death,  she 
has  been  very  infirm,  and  has  almost  refused  to  be 
comforted.  She  has,  this  winter  past,  been  so  lame 
and  sick  that,  for  seven  months,  she  has  not  walked 
a  step  alone,  dressed  or  undressed  herself,  and  there 
is  no  prospect  of  her  being  any  better.  This  for  our 
comfort,  Ma'am,  that  her  mind,  which  you  may  re- 
member was  sometimes  confused,  is  now  perfectly 
composed,  and  she  waits  patiently  to  know  the  will 
of  her  Lord,  and  till  her  great  change  comes." 

Of  my  grandmother's  childhood  we  know  only 
what  may  be  seen  in  a  portrait  taken  of  her  in  early 
life,  here  reproduced.  As,  in  imagination,  we  follow 
her  through  childhood  and  youth,  associating  her 
with  what  we  know  of  her  father's  attractive  homes 
in  Boston  and  Harvard,  we  are  ready  to  assume  that, 
while  faithfully  educated  as  a  housewife,  her  mental 
culture  was  not  neglected.  Indeed,  we  have  evidence 
of  this  in  one  of  her  manuscript  books,  where  her 

[10] 


1780.1796]  CHILDHOOD 

maiden  name  repeatedly  appears.  Many  of  its  leaves 
have  been  cut  out,  and  some  are  badly  torn ;  enough 
is  left,  however,  to  show  that,  before  as  well  as  after 
marriage,  she  records  there,  not  only  recipes  for  pud- 
ding and  cake,  but  also  selections  from  the  old  Eng- 
lish poets,  with  here  and  there  an  original  composi- 
tion in  verse.  These  last  are  valuable  as  showing  her 
reflective  turn  of  mind  and  the  aspirations  with 
which  she  entered  upon  life.  From  one  of  these,  a 
part  of  which  is  gone,  I  copy  the  following,  in  which, 
after  expressing  gratitude  for  the  gift  of  endless  life, 
she  asks  for  heavenly  aid  in  consecrating  herself  to 
the  highest  aims: 

"Indulgent  God!  in  vain  my  tongue  essays 
For  this  immortal  gift,  to  speak  Thy  praise ; 
How  shall  my  heart  its  grateful  sense  reveal 
Where  all  the  energy  of  words  must  fail. 
Oh,  may  its  influence  in  my  life  appear; 
May  every  action  prove  my  thanks  sincere ! 
Grant  me,  great  God,  a  heart  to  Thee  inclined, 
Increase  my  faith  and  rectify  my  mind; 
Teach  me  betimes  to  tread  Thy  sacred  ways, 
And  to  Thy  service  consecrate  my  days ! 
Still,  as  through  life's  uncertain  maze  I  stray, 
Be  Thou  the  guiding  star  to  mark  my  way, 
Conduct  the  steps  of  my  unguarded  youth, 
And  point  their  motions  to  the  paths  of  Truth ! " 

The  next  lines  that  are  legible  seem,  in  view  of 
her  many  sorrows  later  in  life,  and  the  spirit  in  which 
she  met  them,  almost  prophetic : 

EH] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE     [ITBO-ITW 

"My  God!  should  adverse  fortune  be  my  share, 
Let  not  its  terrors  tempt  me  to  despair ; 
But,  bravely  armed,  a  steady  faith  maintain, 
And  own  all  best  which  Thy  decrees  ordain, 
On  Thy  Almighty  Providence  depend, 
The  best  protector  and  the  surest  Friend!  " 

To  this  page  she  has  appended  her  own  signature, 
"Mary  Flagg,"  with  the  date  "1770." 

On  another  leaf  are  lines  entitled  "  The  Choice," 
signed  "Mary  Flagg." 

It  would  be  interesting  to  know  whether  we  have 
here  my  grandfather's  portrait  in  the  days  of  their 
first  acquaintance,  or  a  fancy  sketch : 

"  If  marriage  ever  be  my  lot  in  life, 
And  I,  by  fate,  am  destined  for  a  wife, 
If  e'er  to  love's  soft  power  I  yield  my  heart, 
May  worth  inspire,  and  merit  point  the  dart! 
May  he  to  whom  my  hand  andlieart  are  given 
Have  every  blessing  from  indulgent  heaven, 
Each  noble  virtue  with  his  soul  be  joined, 
And  sense  adorn,  and  honour  guide  his  mind. 
In  temper  mild,  in  judgment  sound  and  clear, 
Courteous  to  all,  and  to  his  friend  sincere, 
Grave,  without  rudeness,  and  polite,  with  ease, 
His  rule,  good  manners,  and  his  aim  to  please. 
Proud  to  oblige,  a  stranger  to  deceit, 
Ambitious  rather  to  be  good  than  great, 
May  winning  candour  and  unsullied  truth 
Adorn  each  action  of  the  accomplished  youth. 
Blest  with  his  love,  no  higher  bliss  desire ; 
Content  with  that,  let  vainer  joys  expire. 
Let  vain  coquettes  their  empty  triumphs  boast, 
My  only  glory  is  in  pleasing  most 

[12] 


i78o-ir96]  CHILDHOOD 

The  youth  who  best  deserves  my  heart  to  share, 
Whose  kind  affections  claim  my  every  care, 
Through  the  uncertain,  rugged  paths  of  life, 
Fulfil  with  joy  the  duties  of  a  wife, 
And,  till  his  growing  virtues  cease  to  shine, 
Pleased,  I'll  admire,  and  strive  to  make  them  mine." 

I  have  a  record  of  my  mother's  birth,  and  of  the 
leading  events  of  her  life,  in  a  letter  written  to  my 
father  by  my  grandmother  four  years  before  she 
died: 

"Concord,  Sept.  2nd,  1817. 

"As  I  have  a  presentiment  I  shall  not  long  be  able 
to  write,  and  every  communication  respecting  our 
beloved  Mary  will  be  acceptable  one  day  to  her  off- 
spring, and  now  to  yourself,  I  write  now.  Mary  was 
born  on  Sunday  morning,  the  eighth  day  of  Octo- 
ber, 1780,  and  was  presented,  and  received  baptism, 
the  same  day,  by  Mr.  Harrington,  whose  eyes  were 
filled  with  tears  of  joy,  as  she  was  then  said  to  be  a 
precious  gift,  being  our  fifth  child,  and  only  living 
one.  At  three  years,  she  was  uncommonly  forward 
in  her  letters.  Her  memory  was  very  good.  Her  first 
master  was  Mr.  Mead,  a  young  minister,  who 
boarded  with  us,  and  was  very  fond  of  her  brother 
and  herself.  She  daily  progressed  in  everything  set 
before  her.  Her  strength  of  mind  was  very  percep- 
tible at  an  early  age.  She  could  commit  to  memory 
faster  than  many  children  could  at  her  age  read. 
Her  father,  after  a  long  confinement,  died  in  1788. 
In  1790,  she  came  to  Concord." 

[13] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

The  following  letter  to  her  mother  was  evidently 
written  at  school,  and  may  have  been  given  her  to 
write  as  a  composition: 

"Lancaster,  October  9th,  1 789. 
"Hond  Mad™, — Your  goodness  to  me  I  cannot 
express.  My  mind  is  continually  crowded  with  your 
kindness.  If  your  goodness  could  be  rewarded,  I 
hope  God  will  repay  you.  If  you  remember,  some 
time  ago  I  read  you  a  story  in  'the  Mother's  Gift,' 
but  I  hope  I  shall  never  resemble  Miss  Gonson.  O 
Dear!  what  a  thing  it  is  to  disobey  one's  parents.  I 
have  one  of  the  best  Masters.  He  gave  me  a  sheet 
of  paper  this  morning.  I  hope  Uncle  Flagg  will 
come  up.  I  am  quite  tired  of  looking  for  Betsy,  but 
I  hope  she  will  come.  When  school  is  done  keeping, 
I  shall  come  to  Sudbury.  What  a  fine  book  Mrs. 
Chapone's  Letters  is !  My  time  grows  short,  and  I 
must  make  my  letter  short. 

Your  dutiful  daughter, 

P.  W." 

I  wish  I  was  able  to  add  to  these  records  of  the 
first  nine  years  of  my  mother's  life  an  exact  transcript 
of  a  few  lines  which  were  once  among  her  papers, 
but  which  I  no  longer  find  there.  I  think  I  can  give 
from  memory  the  substance  of  what  I  have  often 
read  on  that  worn  scrap  of  yellow  paper.  After  say- 
ing that  she  gave  the  morning  hour  to  her  devotions 
and  to  reading  of  Scripture,  she  says,  "After  break- 
fast, dusted  the  parlour,  sewed  on  my  muslin  hand- 


1780-1796]  CHILDHOOD 

kerchief,  studied  my  lesson,  read,  took  a  walk." 
There  were  some  good  resolutions  on  the  subject  of 
early  rising  and  industry,  which  are  not  distinct  in 
my  memory.  The  record  showed  her,  when  she  was 
but  nine  years  old,  "commending  herself  to  the 
guidance  of  duty"  with  an  earnestness  which  is  un- 
usual at  that  age. 

The  removal  to  Concord,  mentioned  in  my  grand- 
mother's letter,  was  the  result  of  her  marriage  to  Dr. 
Isaac  Hurd  of  that  town.  He  was  a  physician  in 
large  practice,  a  widower  with  five  young  children, 
three  sons  and  two  daughters,  about  the  ages  of 
her  Mary  and  Henry.  Mrs.  Rapallo  writes,  "They 
seemed  a  remarkably  happy,  united  family,  they 
grew  up  together  in  harmony  and  love."  That  the 
happiness  resulting  from  this  union  of  families  was 
greatly  due  to  my  grandmother's  beautiful  spirit  of 
unselfishness  cannot  be  doubted.  In  illustration  of 
the  admirable  manner  in  which  she  filled  the  place 
of  mother  to  children  not  her  own,  Mrs.  Rapallo 
gives  the  following  anecdote,  which  was  told  her  in 
her  youth.  Not  long  after  my  grandmother's  removal 
to  Concord  she  received  a  call  from  an  acquaintance 
in  the  neighbourhood.  Her  visit  so  far  exceeded  the 
usual  bounds  of  a  morning  call  as  to  excite  the  sur- 
prise of  the  family.  The  dinner-hour  drew  near,  and, 
as  she  showed  no  intention  of  leaving,  she  was  asked, 
comparative  stranger  though  she  was,  to  remain  and 
dine  with  them.  The  invitation  was  accepted.  After 
dinner,  and  just  before  leaving,  she  said,  "To  be 

[151 


\ 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

frank  with  you,  Mrs.  Hurd,  I  must  tell  you  that  I 
had  a  purpose  in  my  visit  to-day.  I  have  been  told 
that  you  were  so  entirely  without  partiality  in  your 
treatment  of  your  children  that  it  would  be  impos- 
sible for  any  one  to  know,  by  your  manner,  which 
were  your  own  and  which  were  Dr.  Hurd's.  I  did  n't 
believe  it,  and  I  came  to  see.  I  am  perfectly  satis- 
fied. It  is  as  I  have  been  told."  Little  as  we  can  ad- 
mire the  intrusive  neighbour,  this  tradition  is  valu- 
able for  the  view  it  gives  us  of  my  grandmother, 
which  does  but  confirm  the  statements  of  others. 

One  of  Dr.  Hurd's  nieces,  who  was  intimate  in 
his  family,  always  spoke  to  me  of  my  grandmother 
as  "the  model  stepmother."  My  father  used  to  say 
it  seemed  to  him  she  was,  if  possible,  more  devoted 
to  Dr.  Hurd's  children  than  to  her  own.  They  grew 
up  under  her  care,  rewarding  it  in  every  respect. 
The  three  sons  engaged  early  in  commerce.  Thomp- 
son, the  oldest,  was  lost  at  sea,  in  1801.  He  seems 
to  have  been  greatly  beloved  by  his  family.  The  two 
daughters,  Sally  and  Betsy,  and  the  youngest  son, 
Benjamin,  my  grandmother  nursed  through  pro- 
tracted illness,  closing  their  eyes  at  last.  The  second 
son,  Isaac,  married  and  lived  in  Concord.  To  his 
young  family  his  stepmother  was  no  less  devoted 
than  she  had  been  to  her  own.  He  was  a  true  son  to 
her,  and  the  only  one  who  survived  her. 

She  was  no  less  a  model  wife  than  mother.  Her 
devotion  to  Dr.  Hurd  and  his  interests  was  absolute 
and  entire.  No  claim  was  allowed  to  take  precedence 

[16] 


1780-1796]  CHILDHOOD 

of  his.  She  took  a  personal  interest  in  his  patients, 
and  many  demands  were  made  upon  her  time  by  his 
profession.  He  had,  also,  a  farm,  the  supervision 
of  which  devolved  chiefly  upon  her,  in  those  days 
of  primitive  simplicity  when  one  female  domestic 
was  considered  enough  to  meet  the  demands  of  any 
family,  however  large  or  however  given  to  hospi- 
tality. 

My  grandmother's  "Betty"  is  remembered  by  the 
few  who  still  live  to  tell  of  the  pleasant  home  in  Con- 
cord, with  which  she  was  as  much  identified  as  any 
member  of  the  household.  She  is  spoken  of  as  faith- 
ful and  untiring,  but  as  quite  dependent  upon  my 
grandmother's  head  to  help  her  through  the  mazes 
of  her  various  duties,  and  bring  them  to  a  success- 
ful issue.  When  we  consider  my  grandmother's  del- 
icate health  and  intellectual  tastes,  we  cannot  but 
regret,  as  did  her  contemporaries,  that  Dr.  Hurd, 
with  his  ample  means,  did  not  more  effectually  re- 
lieve her  from  the  fatiguing  labour  which,  in  addi- 
tion to  usual  household  cares,  came  upon  her  in  con- 
nection with  the  farm.  She,  however,  was  never 
heard  to  complain  of  what  was  before  her  to  be  done, 
and  only  mentions  it  occasionally  as  a  reason  for 
cutting  short  a  letter,  or  denying  herself  the  pleasure 
of  a  visit;  as,  for  instance,  in  a  letter  of  August  11, 
1813:  "The  day,  if  we  rise  before  the  sun,  will  not 
allow  us  to  accomplish  the  business  before  us.  Hay- 
ing and  reaping  add  to  our  cares  very  much.  Ten 
men  to  board  and  lodge  has  tried  my  strength,  and 

[17] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE     [ITWMTWI 

sometimes  my  patience,  but  all  these  things  will 
soon  have  an  end." 

As  for  Dr.  Hurd,  although  the  family  letters  show 
him  to  have  been  an  affectionate  husband  and  father, 
and,  in  religious  feelings  and  principles,  he  was  in 
sympathy  with  my  grandmother,  we  cannot  escape 
the  conviction,  from  the  testimony  of  those  who 
knew  him,  that  he  was  a  person  of  narrow  views 
and  of  a  somewhat  selfish,  exacting  nature,  in  strik- 
ing contrast  to  her  own. 

Among  the  pleasures  which  her  new  home  brought 
to  my  mother  were  the  friendships  she  formed  with 
the  families  of  Dr.  Kurd's  two  brothers  in  Charles- 
town,  Massachusetts.  They  both  had  daughters  near 
the  ages  of  my  mother  and  her  step  sisters.  With 
all  of  them  my  mother  seems  to  have  been  a  favour- 
ite. The  one  of  their  number  who  most  attracted 
her  was  Ruth,  the  second  daughter  of  Mr.  Joseph 
Hurd,  distinguished  in  youth,  as  she  was  through- 
out a  life  of  unusual  length,  for  her  personal  and 
mental  charms.  My  mother  seems  to  have  regarded 
her  with  the  tenderness  which  an  older  sister  feels 
for  a  younger ;  while  she,  in  turn,  looked  up  to  my 
mother  with  the  enthusiasm  often  felt  by  a  young 
girl  for  one  beautiful  and  admired,  some  years  older 
than  herself. 

As  her  "  lovely  friend  Ruth  "  developed  into  wom- 
anhood, my  mother  gave  her  the  greatest  proof  of 
her  affection  by  cherishing  the  hope  of  seeing  her 
united  to  her  brother  Henry.  She  could  hardly  have 

[18] 


1780-1796]  CHILDHOOD 

felt  more  interest  in  her  than  this  hope  implies,  if 
she  had  foreseen  that,  in  the  distant  future,  she  was 
to  become  the  stepmother  of  her  daughters.  My 
mother's  memory  was  affectionately  cherished  by 
this  friend  of  her  youth.  During  the  closing  years  of 
her  long  life,  when  her  mind  was  as  bright  as  ever, 
it  was  her  delight  to  talk  of  my  mother,  to  whom, 
she  said,  more  than  to  any  one  else,  she  was  indebted, 
in  early  life,  for  stimulating  and  guiding  her  intel- 
lectual tastes.  A  short  time  before  her  death,  and 
after  her  ninetieth  birthday,  she  wrote  to  me  a  letter 
containing,  among  other  memories  of  my  mother, 
the  following:  "I  remember  her  as  she  was  when 
she  first  came  to  Concord,  a  fascinating  child.  She 
was  a  sweet  natural  singer,  and  I  can  now  recall, 
perfectly,  the  words,  though  not  the  music,  of  one 
of  her  little  songs,  although  I  never  met  with  them 
once  from  that  time  to  this.  Her  whole  appearance 
as  she  sang,  and  the  lovely  tones  of  her  voice,  im- 
pressed them  upon  my  memory,  and  I  can  now  re- 
call, as  if  it  were  yesterday,  the  charm  of  her  man- 
ner, as  she  sang  these  words : 

"  O  fortune,  how  strangely  thy  gifts  are  awarded, 
How  much  to  thy  shame  thy  caprice  is  recorded! 
Witness  brave  Belisarius,  who  begged  for  a  half-penny, 
'Date  obolum,  date  obolum  Belisario.'" 

Dr.  Bigelow  tells  me  that  one  of  my  mother's  gifts 
in  childhood  was  original  composition  in  verse.  He 
remembers  that  she  composed  an  elegy,  at  that  early 
age,  on  the  death  of  her  father. 

[19] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE     [1790-1796 

Of  my  mother's  education,  after  her  removal  to 
Concord,  my  grandmother  writes:  "When  she  first 
came  to  Concord,  she  went  to  the  Grammar  School 
kept  by  Mr.  Whiting,  and,  afterwards,  to  Dr.  Ban- 
croft. For  several  years,  a  Miss  Burrell  from  Boston 
kept  a  private  school  possessed  of  every  advantage 
usual  at  that  day  except  music.  Mary  was  always  a 
favourite  with  all  her  instructors,  who  were  pleased 
to  say  she  excelled  in  every  thing  she  undertook." 
This  is  all  we  are  told  of  my  mother's  school  days. 

[20] 


CHAPTER  II 

1796-1801 

CONCORD :  YOUTH,  ENGAGEMENT,  MARRIAGE  TO  MR. 
VAN  SCHALKWYCK 

OUR  next  record  is  from  my  mother's  cousin 
Ruth,  as  contained  in  the  letter  already  quoted. 
She  says,  "I  have  a  most  lively  impression  of  one 
of  my  childhood  days,  even  as  early  as  twelve  years 
of  age,  with  many  others  similar,  but  that  I  spe- 
cially refer  to  occurred  at  the  time  of  your  mother's 
leaving  us  in  Charlestown,  after  a  visit  of  a  few 
weeks,  when  she  was  about  sixteen,  and  full  of  en- 
thusiasm. She  asked  me  to  write,  promising  to  an- 
swer my  letters.  I  made  a  reluctant  promise  to  an- 
swer her  letter,  which  I  greatly  desired  to  receive." 
The  following  is  the  letter  above  mentioned: 

"Concord,  August  20th,  1797. 

"Your  request  that  I  would  write  to  you,  my 
dear  Cousin,  has  prevailed  over  a  consciousness  of 
my  own  inability  fc>  offer  any  thing  for  your  perusal 
equal  to  my  wishes,  or,  I  fear,  to  your  expectations. 
But  you  have  assured  me  a  letter  would  give  you 
pleasure,  and  I  believe  you  too  sincere  to  assert  what 
you  do  not  feel.  I  write,  therefore,  in  reliance  that  I 
shall  be  received  with  candour,  and  that  every  blem- 
ish will  be  seen  softened  by  the  mild  eye  of  affection. 

"  In  settling  the  first  article  of  our  correspondence, 
[21] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

I  propose  we  give  Distrust,  Formality,  and  their  at- 
tendant Coldness,  to  the  winds,  and  that  we  take, 
in  their  stead,  Confidence,  Sincerity,  and  Love.  This 
being  premised,  we,  neither  of  us,  plead,  as  an  excuse 
for  not  writing,  want  of  topics,  or  of  expressions  to 
clothe  them.  The  language  of  the  heart  is  the  lan- 
guage of  nature,  it  is  easily  spoken  and  easily  under- 
stood, and  I  would  give  more  for  five  lines  of  it  than 
for  five  pages  of  the  cold,  methodical  labours  of  the 
head.  I  say  this  to  you,  because  I  think  you  will  feel 
it.  I  would  not  say  it  to  many,  because  I  think  the 
generality  incapable  of  understanding  it :  to  talk  of 
Sensibility,  and  those  exquisitely  refined  powers  of 
the  Soul,  to  them  is  a  mere  unintelligible  jargon. 
Ever  since  I  was  capable  of  making  any  observa- 
tions, I  have  remarked  in  you  a  very  unusual  share 
of  this  quick  delicacy  of  mind,  and,  though  it  irre- 
sistibly attracts  my  affection,  I  would  caution  you 
against  indulging  it  to  an  excess.  I  would,  by  no 
means,  wish  you  to  extinguish  it,  or  even  to  blunt 
it,  but  only  to  strengthen  it  with  judgment  and  for- 
titude. I  would  wish  you  ever  to  possess  the  same 
fine  susceptibility  you  do  at  present,  but  I  wish  you 
to  have  the  power  of  resisting  your  feelings,  when- 
ever they  would  tend  to  make  you  greatly  unhappy. 
"  To  you  I  do  not  think  an  apology  for  this  ser- 
monizing necessary;  you  will  accept  it  as  coming 
from  a  heart  warmed  with  affection  towards  you. 
Present  to  your  parents  the  best  respects,  and  to 
your  sister  the  love,  of  your 

MARY  WILDER." 
[22] 


1796-1801]  YOUTH 

Apparently,  the  young  cousin  of  twelve  did  not 
feel  equal  to  entering  upon  a  correspondence  so 
early.  Two  years  passed  away  before  she  ventured  a 
reply  to  this  letter.  They  were  eventful  years  to  my 
mother,  as  appears  from  even  the  few  records  we 
have  of  them.  Among  the  recollections  of  her  dur- 
ing this  part  of  her  life,  there  are  none  more  valu- 
able than  those  cherished  by  Dr.  Jacob  Bigelow, 
another  of  her  favourite  relatives.  He  and  my  mother 
were  own  cousins.  She  was  about  six  years  older  than 
he.  I  know  of  no  one  who  has  a  more  vivid  memory 
of  her  than  Dr.  Bigelow.  He  has  now  entered  upon 
his  ninetieth  year,  is  quite  blind,  and  confined  to  his 
bed ;  but  his  mind  is  clear  as  ever,  and  his  memory 
of  people  and  events  in  the  past  quite  distinct.  After 
taking  my  seat  by  his  bedside  some  weeks  since,  and 
receiving  from  him  the  usual  cordial  greeting,  I 
asked  him  if,  while  lying  there,  his  mind  reverted 
much  to  the  past.  He  replied  that  it  did.  I  then 
asked,  "Among  those  whose  memories  rise  before 
you,  do  you  ever  think  of  my  mother?"  He  ex- 
claimed with  great  warmth  of  manner,  "  Do  I  think 
of  your  mother  ?  Indeed  I  do.  She  was  my  guiding 
star.  I  looked  up  to  her  as  to  a  superior  being."  He 
had  previously  told  me  what  pleasure  he  had,  when 
a  boy,  in  driving  over  to  Concord  for  her  in  a  chaise, 
and  bringing  her  to  his  mother's  house  in  Sudbury, 
where  it  was  not  unusual  for  her  to  make  visits  of 
some  weeks  in  length.  He  remembers  that  after  the 
publication  of  Mrs.  Radcliffe's  novels  she  would  de- 

[23] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

light  them  all  by  narrating  them.  He  recollects  their 
sitting  on  the  stairs  in  the  front  entry,  listening  to 
her  relation  of  them,  which  they  all  thought  more 
interesting  received  from  her  lips  than  when  read 
from  the  book.  He  says  that  in  narrating  a  story 
she  gave  every  detail,  so  that  one  story  would  be 
continued  ten  days  or  more.  She  gave  the  conversa- 
tions with  great  dramatic  power,  personating  each 
character  as  she  spoke.  He  remembers  her  giving 
"The  Mysteries  of  Udolpho"  with  such  power  that 
after  passing  an  evening  listening  to  her  he  was  afraid 
to  be  alone  in  the  dark,  and,  on  getting  into  bed, 
covered  his  head  with  the  bedclothes  in  terror  from 
the  pictures  which  had  been  so  vividly  presented  to 
his  imagination. 

Upon  his  telling  me  that  when  visiting  at  his 
mother's  house  she  took  him  under  her  tutelage,  I 
asked  him,  "In  what  way?"  He  replied,  "For  one 
thing,  I  remember  she  used  to  have  me  read  with 
her  out  of  the  same  book,  and  I  recollect  that,  when 
I  had  made  my  way  over  a  few  lines  of  a  page,  I 
would  find  her  at  the  foot  of  it.  I  can  recall  the 
rapidity  with  which  she  possessed  herself  of  the  con- 
tents of  a  page." 

The  following  letter  was  written  by  her  to  her 
cousin  Eliza  Bigelow: 

"Concord,  March  20th,  1798. 
"  I  received  much  pleasure  from  my  dear  Eliza's 
letter,  and,  in  return,  will  tell  her  all  the  news  I  can 

[24] 


1796-1801]  YOUTH 

think  of.  Last  Friday  eve  closed,  I  hope,  the  assem- 
blies and  balls  for  this  season.  I  can  say  most  sin- 
cerely I  hope  this,  for  I  am  tired  of  dissipation.  The 
brilliant  appearance  of  a  full  dressed  assembly,  the 
animating  notes  of  sprightly  music,  and  the  flatter- 
ing attention  of  the  Beaux,  certainly  amuse  the 
fancy,  perhaps  gratify  vanity,  (and  who  is  there  that 
is  wholly  free  from  it),  but  interest  not  the  heart ;  and, 
after  the  charm  of  novelty  has  worn  off,  when  sober 
reason  takes  the  place  of  extravagant  imagination, 
we  then  discover  how  dearly  we  have  paid  for  a  few 
hours'  amusement.  I  am  sure  I  have  reason  to  say 
this,  for  I  paid  a  fortnight's  indisposition  for  a  few 
hours'  dancing ;  for  this,  however,  I  am  to  blame  my 
own  imprudence  in  going  out  when  warm  with  ex- 
ercise, but  I  have  got  over  it,  and  am  now  very  well. 
"  I  promised  you,  in  the  beginning  of  my  letter,  to 
tell  you  all  the  news  I  could  think  of;  to  be  as  good 
as  my  word,  I  must  inform  you  Papa  has  received 
another  letter  from  Mr.  Schalkwyck,  dated  'Paris, 
Nov.  17th.'  He  says  he  shall  embark  for  America 
soon,  so  as  to  arrive  early  in  the  spring.  He  has  re- 
covered between  sixty  and  seventy  thousand  dollars 
of  his  estate,  or  rather,  he  has  so  much  given  him, 
as  compensation,  in  part,  for  the  plantations  that 
were  destroyed,  which  belonged  to  his  family." 

The  beloved  Cousin  Ruth,  in  looking  back  upon 
this  period,  and  speaking  of  my  mother's  self-cul- 
ture, says,  "I  remember  she  loved  to  speak  of  an 

[25] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

English  lady  as  a  very  good  friend  of  hers,  and  quite 
accomplished  in  the  French  language, — Madam 
Walker,  to  whose  kind  attention  she  was  indebted 
in  learning  to  read  and  write  the  French  language. 
This  lady  boarded  in  Concord,  in  the  same  family 
with  Mr.  Van  Schalkwyck,  and  here  the  very  early 
attachment  with  this  gentleman  was  first  formed. 
He  was  a  man  of  education  and  refinement.  I  knew 
him  only  as  a  great  invalid." 

Mrs.  Rapallo,  in  writing  of  this  part  of  my  mother's 
life,  says,"  Your  mother,  beautiful,  accomplished,  ad- 
mired by  all  who  knew  her,  with,  I  think,  a  touch  of 
romance  in  her  delicate  nature,  became  strongly  at- 
tached to  a  French  gentleman,  who  was  boarding  in 
Concord,  and  became  engaged  to  him."  From  pa- 
pers in  my  possession,  I  infer  that  this  engagement 
occurred  during  the  winter  of  1797-98,  when  my 
mother  was  but  seventeen  years  old. 

Mr.  Van  Schalkwyck1  was  of  patrician  descent,  a 
French  refugee  from  the  West  Indies ;  he  was  born 
in  Guadeloupe,  July  12,  1772.  From  Mr.  Dureste 
Blanchet,  one  of  my  mother's  most  valued  friends,  I 
have  learned  more  of  him  than  from  any  other 
source.  Mr.  Blanchet  was  a  relative  and  intimate 
friend  of  Mr.  Van  Schalkwyck.  He  used  to  speak  of 
him  to  me  as  an  accomplished  gentleman,  a  man  of 
intellect  and  character,  worthy  of  the  heart  he  won. 
I  first  knew  Mr.  Blanchet  when  I  was  a  girl  of  six- 

1  His  full  name  was  Antoine  Van  Schalkwyck  Classe  Courcelle.  It  was 
pronounced  "Skalk'wyck." — ED. 

[26] 


1796-1801]  YOUTH 

teen,  at  which  time  he  visited  at  my  father's  house. 
He  then  answered  to  my  idea  of  a  gentleman  of  the 
old  school.  I  loved  him  for  the  enthusiasm  with 
which  he  cherished  my  mother's  memory,  and  for 
the  interest  he  showed  in  the  children  she  had  left. 
He,  like  Mr.  Van  Schalkwyck,  was  a  West  India 
planter,  a  royalist  driven  from  his  own  country  to 
this  during  the  French  Revolution,  at  the  same  time 
with  Mr.  Van  Schalkwyck.  First,  he  went  to  Bos- 
ton and  vicinity.  Later,  with  quite  a  colony  of  the 
French,  he  settled  in  New  Jersey,  where  he  mar- 
ried a  French  lady  of  high  descent.  They  had  a  large 
family  of  children.  Some  of  their  descendants  still 
live  in  this  country,  and  the  friendship  which  existed 
between  Mr.  Blanchet  and  my  mother,  and  which 
he  extended  to  her  children,  has  come  down  as  an 
inheritance  to  members  of  both  families,  and  exists 
with  unabated  warmth  to  the  present  day. 

Among  those  who  came  to  this  country  with  Mr. 
Blanchet  and  Mr.  Van  Schalkwyck,  and  settled  in 
New  Jersey,  was  the  Baron  Van  Schalkwyck  de 
Boisaubin,  a  distant  cousin  of  Mr.  Van  Schalkwyck. 
He  was  a  chevalier  of  the  Order  of  St.  Louis,  and 
belonged  to  the  bodyguard  of  Louis  XVIth.  I  find 
among  my  mother's  papers  a  letter  from  him  to  Mr. 
Van  Schalkwyck,  which  I  copy  here  because  it  throws 
light  upon  the  character  of  one  who,  from  his  con- 
nection with  my  mother,  has  a  claim  upon  the  con- 
sideration of  her  descendants : 

[27] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

"Morris  Town,  Oct.  22nd,  1798. 
"It  grieves  me,  my  dear  Schalkwyck,  to  inform 
you  of  an  event  which  will  cause  to  you  a  great  deal 
of  pain.  Your  sentiments  and  tender  feelings  are 
known  to  me,  but,  though  it  is  hard  to  me  to  en- 
tertain you  with  so  afflicting  a  subject,  it  is  neces- 
sary that  you  be  informed  of  it  on  account  of  your 
business.  We  have  received  letters  dated  St.  Bar- 
tholomew, from  Mr.  Bellevue,  which  apprise  us  of 
your  father's  death.  I  need  not  tell  you  how  far  this 
event  affected  me.  When  those  moral  virtues,  hon- 
esty and  probity,  are  united  in  the  same  person  at  a 
time  which  vices  are  looked  upon  as  ornaments  al- 
most everywhere,  we  need  not  be  relations  to  regret 
that  one  who  carried  with  him  all  these  precious 
qualities  [words  missing].  A  very  great  comfort  re- 
mains to  us,  that  is,  we  can  say  that  we  see  with  sat- 
isfaction the  son  inherit  all  his  virtues. 

Adieu,  &cc. 

BOISAUBIN." 

This  is  all  that  we  know  of  Mr.  Van  Schalkwyck. 
Of  what  my  mother  was  at  the  time  of  her  engage- 
ment to  him,  and  later,  one  of  Concord's  chroniclers 
says,  "Before  her  first  marriage,  and  during  her 
widowhood,  she  was  the  most  distinguished  of  all 
the  young  ladies  of  Concord,  for  beauty,  grace,  and 
sprightliness ;  and  the  fascination  of  her  manners 
and  conversation  made  the  hospitable  mansion  of 
Dr.  Hurd  a  most  attractive  place  to  the  young  men 

[28] 


179&-1801]  YOUTH 

of  that  day,  and  has  come  down,  as  a  beautiful  tra- 
dition, to  later  times." 

The  happiness  that  came  to  her  from  her  early 
engagement  must  have  been  greatly  alloyed  by  the 
anxiety  and  care  to  which  it  introduced  her.  Mr. 
Van  Schalkwyck  was  compelled,  by  the  death  of 
his  father,  to  return  to  the  West  Indies,  under  cir- 
cumstances which  were  fraught  with  peculiar  dan- 
ger to  him.1 

Of  all  the  letters  she  must  have  sent  to  him  dur- 
ing his  protracted  absence,  we  have  only  the  follow- 
ing, which  shows  what  she  suffered  from  hope  de- 
ferred : 

"  Wednesday  afternoon, 

Concord,  April  3rd,  1 799. 

"  I  am  sick  at  heart ;  it  is  now  almost  four  months 
since  you  left  this  country,  and  not  one  line  have  I 
received  from  you.  Suspense  is  intolerable.  I  know 
not  your  fate.  I  am  ignorant  of  your  reception  at 
Guadeloupe,  if  indeed  you  have  ever  reached  it.  Per- 
haps you  have  not  received  either  of  the  packets  I 
have  written,  but,  even  if  you  have  not  heard  from 
me,  your  anxiety  cannot  equal  mine.  You  left  me 
in  a  secure  and  peaceful  village,  under  the  protec- 
tion of  affectionate  parents,  you  have  every  reason 
to  suppose  that  I  remain  so,  and  that  I  am  in  health. 

1  The  laws  in  Guadeloupe,  as  in  France,  were  very  severe  against 
emigrants,  who  were  considered  disloyal  and  worthy  of  punishment. 
Many  who  returned  to  the  island  were  thrown  in  prison,  transported,  or 
otherwise  punished.  Besides,  there  were  threatened  massacres  of  the 
whites  by  the  blacks. — ED. 

[29] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

But  how  different  your  situation!  I  knew  that  you 
were  rushing  into  danger.  Not  a  day,  not  a  night 
has  passed  but  I  have  beheld  you,  (in  my  mind's  eye) 
a  prisoner,  sick,  perhaps  dying.  I  have  sought  to  calm 
my  soul  by  the  maxims  of  Philosophy,  but  I  found 
them  weak  and  powerless  when  opposed  to  the  strong 
emotions  of  affection.  I  then  called  in  the  aid  of  Re- 
ligion. I  implored  the  mercy  of  that  Being  who  is 
infinitely  powerful  and  gracious ;  to  His  care  I  com- 
mended you,  and  my  soul  was  soothed ;  but  still  the 
weakness  of  humanity  will  at  times  prevail,  and  this 
dreadful  suspense  racks  me  with  doubts  and  fears. 

"I  read  your  last  letters  from  New  York,  and 
weep.  Sometimes  I  indulge  the  hope  of  your  return. 
I  anticipate  the  joys  of  our  meeting,  but  I  soon  re- 
turn to  despondency.  I  remember  this  is  the  picture 
of  fancy,  which  I  may  never  realize.  Yet  think  not 
my  mind  is  always  agitated  thus, — human  nature 
could  not  bear  it.  I  endeavour  to  appear  cheerful  to 
others.  With  regard  to  my  health,  which  you  ex- 
pressed so  much  anxiety  for,  it  is  very  good.  I  think 
the  journey  to  Wachusett  was  of  essential  benefit 
to  me.  I  have  had  good  health  ever  since.  I  have 
now  complied  with  your  request,  and  my  own  in- 
clinations, in  telling  you  all  my  feelings,  in  giving 
you  a  transcript  of  my  heart." 

In  reply  to  a  letter  from  Ruth  Hurd,  congrat- 
ulating her  on  the  unexpected  return  of  Mr.  Van 
Schalkwyck,  she  wrote: 

[30] 


1796-1801]  YOUTH 

"  Concord,  27th  September,  1 799. 

"'The  intention  constitutes  the  act.'  If  this  is 
truth,  my  dear  Ruth,  and  you  are  convinced  of  it, 
I  need  offer  no  apology  for  suffering  your  letter  to 
remain  so  long  unanswered,  but  simply  to  assure 
you,  that  I  intended  to  have  written  immediately 
on  receiving  it.  Numerous  avocations,  but,  above  all, 
the  spirit  of  Procrastination,  induced  me  to  defer 
from  day  to  day,  what  I  considered  as  not  less  a 
duty  than  a  pleasure.  A  duty,  for  our  correspond- 
ence was  a  voluntary  engagement  on  my  side,  which 
not  even  a  sense  of  my  inability  to  contribute  to 
your  amusement  can  wholly  annul ;  you,  only,  have 
the  power  to  do  that ;  and,  as  soon  as  you  find  an 
interchange  of  letters  with  me  to  be  tiresome,  (which, 
I  prophesy,  will  be  ere  long),  I  beg  you  to  give  me 
a  candid  hint,  and  thus  save  yourself  the  chagrin  of 
reading,  and  me  the  mortification  of  writing,  unwel- 
come letters. 

"Accept  my  thanks  for  your  congratulations  on 
the  return  of  my  friend :  but,  what  do  you  think  of 
Madame  Sevigne's  proposal,  of  mourning  whenever 
we  behold  a  beloved  friend,  from  the  reflection  that 
we  must  soon  part  with  them  ?  I  fancy  you  will  say, 
as  some  one  else  did,  ''twould  be  a  great  folly  to 
grieve  all  our  life-time,  because  death  must  come 
at  last.' 

"It  is  really  the  case  that  one  knows  not  when  to 
be  sad  or  joyous;  the  vicissitudes  of  life  change  the 
tone  of  our  minds  each  moment.  But,  blind  as  we 

[31] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

are  to  futurity,  ignorant  in  so  great  a  degree  of  the 
consequences  of  things,  what  absurdity  to  suffer 
ourselves  to  be  either  elevated  to  rapture  or  de- 
pressed to  sadness  by  events  of  which  we  know  not 
the  termination.  Does  not  common-sense  inculcate 
equanimity  of  temper,  to  say  nothing  of  Religion? 
But,  surely,  if  we  think  at  all  of  the  Wise,  Benefi- 
cent, and  Powerful  Being  who  formed  the  universe, 
and  whose  Providence  is  as  extensive  as  His  works, 
we  must  believe  that  He  directs  all  circumstances 
to  conduce  to  the  ultimate  happiness  of  those  who 
place  their  confidence  in  Him,  and  who  endeavour, 
by  conforming  to  His  laws,  to  secure  His  approba- 
tion. How  utterly  unable  we  are  to  decide  what  is 
best  for  ourselves !  Are  we  not,  in  this  present  life, 
this  morning  of  existence,  like  capricious  children, 
who  would  be  spoilt  were  they  indulged  in  all  their 
whims  and  wishes?  How  easy  it  is  to  reason,  but 
alas!  how  difficult  to  act!  This  is  oft  my  exclama- 
tion when  the  weakness  of  humanity  prevails  over 
the  sublimity  of  faith." 

Mr.  Van  Schalkwyck  returned  to  Guadeloupe  in 
the  autumn  of  1799.  The  next  letter  we  have  from 
my  mother  is  addressed  to  her  friend  Dureste  Blan- 
chet: 

"Concord,  April  28th,  1800. 
"The  certainty  of  painfully  affecting  a  friend  I  sin- 
cerely esteem,  inspires  me  with  an  unconquerable  re- 
luctance to  address  you.  Under  the  mask  of  insensi- 

[32] 


1796-1801]  YOUTH 

bility,  I  know  you  conceal  exquisite  feeling.  Oh,  that 
I  was  ignorant  of  this!  I  could  then  tranquilly  bid 
you  prepare  for  the  disappointment  of  your  expec- 
tation of  beholding  a  beloved  sister  this  spring;  I 
could  with  more  composure  impart  to  you  the  intel- 
ligence of  her  illness,  which  I  received  from  Van 
Schalkwyck  in  a  letter,  the  evening  before  last.  He 
requests  me  to  inform  you  that  her  long  indisposi- 
tion has  terminated  in  the  dropsy;  our  friend  re- 
ceived this  sad  intelligence  from  St.  Bartholomew, 
the  15th  March.  Would  to  Heaven  the  voice  of 
sympathizing  friendship  might  blunt  the  arrows  of 
misery ! 

"To  a  soul  like  yours,  fortified  by  the  pure,  sub- 
lime, consolatory  truths  of  Christian  Philosophy, 
common-place  condolence  would  appear  arrogant 
vanity.  To  the  wise  and  beneficent  Power  we  both 
adore,  and  to  your  own  firm  mind  I  leave  you, — 
with  assurances  of  a  friendship  which  can  never  end 
till  Dureste  ceases  to  be  virtuous  and  noble." 

And  again: 

"Concord,  July  16th,  1800. 

"'T  is  unnecessary  to  say  I'most  sincerely  sympa- 
thize with  you,  my  valued  friend.  In  the  school  of 
Adversity,  Virtue  is  perfected.  To  me,  this  school 
appeared  unnecessary  for  Dureste;  Supreme  Wis- 
dom thought  otherwise ;  and  your  merciful  Father, 
by  removing  many  of  this  world's  attractions,  is 
drawing  you  nearer  to  Himself,  the  source  of  felicity. 

[33] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE     [ITW-ISOI 

"Yesterday  brought  me  a  packet  from  Schalk- 
wyck ;  he  is  now  at  St.  Bartholomew,  where  he  has 
been  lately  ill  with  a  fever ;  the  6th  of  June,  he  was 
— God  be  thanked! — on  the  recovery.  He  requests 
me  to  remember  him  to  you  with  brotherly  friend- 
ship, and  to  chide  you  a  little  for  negligence :  he  has 
not  received  one  line  from  you,  but  has  written  to 
you  three  times." 

I  introduce  here  the  following  letter  to  my  mother 
from  her  brother  Henry,  because  every  line  from 
him,  however  trivial  his  subject,  has  value  in  my 

eyes: 

"Charlestown,  May  5th,  1800. 

"  We  arrived  at  Charlestown  at  precisely  half-past 
twelve,  after  a  very  agreeable  ride,  conversing  on 
the  road  upon  several  subjects,  viz.  wind,  weather, 
beautiful,  agreeable,  and  sensible  ladies  and  gentle- 
men, and  the  contrary,  friends  and  acquaintances  of 
all  denominations,  etc.,  etc. 

"When  I  was  up  last,  Mamma  said  she  wished 
Isaac  and  I  could  get  a  piece  of  linen  for  our  own 
wear.  We  have,  accordingly,  been  able  to  procure 
one,  and  should  be  much  obliged  by  having  it  sent 
down  as  soon  as  made  up. 

"Our  luck  in  the  lottery  was  not  great, — we  were 
however,  not  losers. 

<( '  Thus  runs  the  great  Lottery  of  Life, 

In  which  we  all  draw  blanks  and  prizes  alternate, 
But,  in  the  end,  we  're  sure, 

[34] 


1796-1801]  YOUTH 

If  we  but  act  our  parts  aright, 

Our  last-drawn  blank  will  be  the  highest  prize.' 

"  Once  reading  will  be  sufficient  for  this,  if  then 
you  will  take  the  trouble  just  to  toss  it  into  the  fire, 
you  will  oblige  your  truly  affectionate  brother, 

H.  WILDER." 

Another  letter  from  Henry,  dated  "July  25th, 
1800,"  ends  with  these  words :  "  That  health  and  hap- 
piness may  always  attend  his  sister  is  the  hope  on 
which  rests  the  happiness  of  your 

Truly  affectionate  brother, 

H.  WILDER." 

When  Henry  says  that  his  own  happiness  rests 
upon  that  of  his  sister  he  does  but  express  their  mu- 
tual dependence:  his  sister's  happiness  was  bound 
up  in  his.  Among  other  recollections  of  her  in  her 
youth,  given  me  by  Dr.  Bigelow,  he  says,  "I  re- 
member, after  I  had  left  home  to  fit  for  college,  that, 
on  my  returning  once  for  a  visit,  my  mother  told  me 
that  Mary  Wilder  had  been  to  see  her ;  that,  accord- 
ing to  Mary's  request,  they  had  occupied  the  same 
room  at  night,  which  was  passed  principally  in  con- 
versation, Mary  shedding  many  tears,  as  she  talked 
of  her  bitter  disappointment  in  the  decision  at  home 
that  Henry  was  not  to  go  to  college.  His  tastes  and 
talents  fitted  him  for  that  education ;  he  desired  and 
had  expected  it.  His  mother's  property  was  suffi- 
cient to  warrant  the  expectation,  and  to  Mary  it 

[35] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE     [ITM-WOI 

seemed  unjust,  on  the  part  of  her  stepfather,  to  ap- 
ply it  in  any  other  direction."1  We  can  easily  sym- 
pathize with  the  sister's  feelings  on  the  occasion,  yet, 
for  Dr.  Hurd,  it  may  be  said  that  it  was  natural  he 
should  take  the  same  course  with  Henry  that  he 
did  with  his  own  sons.  The  fact  that  their  uncles  in 
Charlestown  were  merchants,  actively  engaged  in 
commerce,  gave  the  young  men  peculiar  advantages 
for  business  life.  That  Isaac  and  Henry  were  in  their 
employ  at  this  time  may  be  inferred  from  the  date 
of  Henry's  letter. 

The  following  letter  to  my  mother  from  Mr.  Blan- 
chet  tells  us  all  we  know  of  the  time  of  Mr.  Van 
Schalkwyck's  return  from  the  West  Indies: 

"Wrentham,  November  18th,  1800. 
"With  eagerness,  I  improve  this  opportunity  to 
return  my  most  lively  thanks  to  my  much  esteemed 
friend,  Mary,  for  her  evinced  kindness  in  forwarding 
to  me  Schalkwyck's  letter,  which  came  on  hand  yes- 
terday, by  the  mail.  Since  she  is  acquainted  with  the 
tender  good- will  I  bear  its  writer,  it  becomes  need- 
less to  mention  how  much  joy  it  gave  me  to  hear 
from  S.  himself  that  he  was  well,  and  in  fine  spirits. 
Without  doubt,  Mary's  sympathizing  heart  is  actu- 
ated with  similar  sensations,  anticipates  full  as  much 
as  I  do  the  gratifying  happiness  of  seeing  again  soon 
our  much  beloved  friend.  He  writes  that  he  was  go- 

1  I  believe  that  Mr.  Gershom  Flagg  bequeathed  some  real  estate,  to 
be  applied  to  giving  his  grandsons  a  college  education,  and,  in  Dr.  Bige- 
low's  case,  it  was  used  for  that  purpose.  —  ED. 

[36] 


1796-1801]  YOUTH 

ing  to  take  his  passage  to  America,  in  the  first  con- 
voy that  should  leave  the  West  Indies.  His  letter 
bears  date  of  the  2nd  of  September,  so,  with  some 
propriety,  we  may  expect  that  he  shall  be  with  us  ere 
this  month  is  out.  May  Gracious  Heaven  take  him 
under  His  fatherly  protection  in  the  course  of  the 
voyage,  and  shortly  waft  him  to  his  friend's  arms." 

From  this  letter  of  Mr.  Blanchet's  we  may  infer 
that  Mr.  Van  Schalkwyck's  return  was  not  long  de- 
layed. We  have  no  letters  written  by  my  mother 
during  the  spring  of  1801.  We  learn,  from  other 
sources,  of  the  anxiety  and  distress  which  she  then 
suffered.  From  letters  of  Mr.  Blanchet  to  her,  the 
last  bearing  the  post-mark  April  27th,  1801,  it  ap- 
pears that  Mr.  Van  Schalkwyck  had  been  danger- 
ously ill,  probably  in  Boston: 

"  W^rentham,  Friday  morning,  1801. 
"With  an  infinite  satisfaction,  dear  Mary,  I  learnt, 
by  your  interesting  epistle,  closed  on  the  morning 
of  Monday  last,  which,  however,  I  received  but  yes- 
terday evening,  that  our  beloved  friend  Schalkwyck 
continues  to  improve  in  health.  The  various  acci- 
dents which  lately  threatened  his  life  having  subsi- 
ded, as  you  mentioned,  now  leave  us  almost  a  posi- 
tive reason  to  hope  that,  with  the  intervening  good- 
ness of  Providence,  he  shall  soon  be  restored  to  the 
ardent  wishes  of  his  friends  in  a  perfect  state  of  wel- 
fare. May  our  prayers,  on  this  occasion,  ascend  to 
heaven  and  be  heard ! 

[37] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

"  The  delay  experienced  in  hearing  from  you  and 
Courcelle  [the  brother  of  Mr.  S.]  indeed  caused  me 
some  anxieties  at  first,  but,  upon  remembering  this 
old  axiom,  'no  news,  good  news,'  I  easily  quieted  my 
mind,  and  your  letter  proved  that  I  was  not  wrong ; 
besides,  its  contents  is  so  pleasing  to  my  heart  that, 
had  I  even  been  offended  at  your  silence,  I  would 
have  forgotten  it  to  think  of  the  happy  circumstances 
you  imparted  me  with. 

"The  favourable  account  you  give  of  Mr.  De  Che- 
verus  does  not  at  all  surprise  me.  He  deserves  all  the 
good  you  may  think  of  him,  being  himself  good,  by 
excellency.  It  gives  me  pleasure  to  know  that  he  has 
repeated  his  visits  to  our  friend.  His  conversation  is 
comforting,  as  well  as  entertaining. 

"Tell  Schalkwyck  that  he  would  have  received 
before  this  time,  the  preserved  apples  I  was  to  send 
him,  if  I  had  been  able  to  procure,  myself,  the  raw 
ones.  They  are  not  to  be  obtained  about  here.  If  he 
can  send  up  some  from  Boston,  Mrs.  De  la  Roche 
will,  with  pleasure,  have  them  fixed  for  him.  Accept 
my  best  regards  and  wishes  for  everything  that  could 
enlarge  your  share  of  happiness,  and  believe  me,  for 
ever,  with  perfect  sincerity,  your  affectionate  friend, 

DURESTE  B." 

Mrs.  Rapallo  writes,  of  Mr.  Van  Schalkwyck's  ill- 
ness, "  He  was  taken  very  ill  in  Boston,  and  his  doctor 
said  his  only  chance  of  recovery  was  to  return  to  his 

[38] 


1796-1801]  YOUTH 

native  air.  Your  mother  went  immediately  to  Bos- 
ton and  was  married." 

I  find  among  my  mother's  papers  a  copy  of  a  Bos- 
ton newspaper,  the  Columbian  Centinel,  of  "  Satur- 
day, June  27th,  1801,"  which  contains  the  following 
record:  "Married  on  Thursday  last,  at  the  Roman 
Catholic  Chapel,  M.  Anthony  Van  Schalkwyck,from 
the  Island  of  Guadeloupe,  to  Miss  Mary  Wilder  of 
Concord."  I  have  been  told  that  the  ceremony  was 
performed  by  Bishop  Cheverus,  who  was  my  mother's 
warm  friend  from  the  time  they  first  met  till  she  died. 
The  two  months  immediately  following  her  mar- 
riage were  passed  at  her  mother's  house  in  Concord, 
the  next  month  in  Newburyport. 

The  following  letter,  though  undated,  was  un- 
doubtedly written  during  the  summer.  It  was  ad- 
dressed to  M.  Antoine  Van  Schalkwyck,  and  was 
written  by  Madame  Courcelle,  the  wife  of  his  older 
brother,  who  had  just  returned  to  Guadeloupe  after 
an  exile  of  seven  years : 

"  II  m'est  impossible,  mon  cher  frere  et  bon  ami, 
de  vous  exprimer  toute  la  joie  que  j'ai  ressentie 
en  embrassant  mon  cher  Courcelle.  Apres  sept  ans 
d'absence,  de  peines,  et  de  chagrins  de  tous  les 
genres,  cette  faveur  du  ciel  me  semble  si  grande 
que  j'ai  peine  a  me  persuader  que  ce  soit  une  rdalite! 
Ah!  pourquoi  ma  chere  maman,  ma  tendre  soeur 
Adelaide  n'existent-elles  pas  pour  etre  te'moins  de 

[39]. 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

mon  bonheur!  pourquoi  la  perte  de  mes  enfants,  et 
celle  de  tous  mes  parents  che'ris  ont-elles  imprime' 
dans  mon  coeur  un  sentiment  de  douleur  qui  m'ote 
tout  espoir  de  jouir  en  ce  bas  monde  d'une  felicite' 
pure  et  sans  melange!  Mais  nul  mortel  ne  jouit  d'un 
bonheur  parfait,  et  celui  que  je  goute  a  present  sur- 
passe  mon  espeYance,  et  j'en  rends  grace  au  ciel. 

"J'ai  appris  avec  plaisir  que  vous  etiez  unis  a 
votre  charmante  amie;  vous  ne  devez  pas  douter 
que  je  n'en  sois  bien  aise;  tout  ce  que  peut  con- 
tribuer  a  votre  bonheur,  ajoute  a  ma  satisfaction; 
et  il  m'est  doux  de  penser  que  j'aurai  en  elle  une 
soeur  dont  le  caractere  simpatisera  avec  le  mien ;  une 
sceur  du  choix  de  mon  cher  frere  ne  saurait  man- 
quer  de  posseder  toute  mon  affection. 

"  Ce  que  Courcelle  m'a  dit  de  votre  e'tat  me  cause 
beaucoup  d'inquietude.  Vous  ne  sauriez  donner  une 
plus  grande  marque  d'attachement  a  vos  amis,  que 
les  soins  que  vous  prendrez  pour  vous  conserver  pour 
eux.  Vous  savez  combien  votre  vie  leur  pre'cieuse,  et 
combien  elle  est  necessaire  a  leur  bonheur;  ainsi, 
me'nagez-vous,  mon  cher  frere,  et  songez  que  le  jour 
qui  vous  re'unira  au  reste  de  ma  famille  ne  me  lais- 
sera  plus  rien  a  de'sirer.  N'ayez  aucune  inquietude 
sur  le  compte  de  votre  frere;  il  a  e'te'  tres-bien  ac- 
cueilli.  Le  Ge'ne'ral  Lacrosse  ne  demande  pas  mieux 
que  de  voir  rentrer  touts  les  honnetes  gens;  il  dit 
qu'il  desire  se  faire  des  amis  de  tous  les  ancien  ha- 
bitans  de  cette  colonnie,  mais  je  crois  que  toutes  les 
demarches  que  Ton  pourroit  faire  pour  reclamer  ses 

[40] 


1796-1801]  YOUTH 

proprie'tes  avant  la  fin  des  locations  seroient  inutiles. 
Je  compte  aller  k  la  Pointe  avec  Courcelle  dans  quel- 
ques  jours,  et  je  tacherai  d'obtenir  des  secours  pour 
lui.  Si  le  succes  de  nies  demarches  repond  a  mes  d£- 
sirs,  je  vous  ferai  passer  quelques  moyens,  et  vous 
enverrai  une  petite  note  des  effets  dont  j'ai  besoin, 
pour  vous  prier  de  me  les  procurer.  En  attendant,  si 
vous  pouviez  me  faire  passer  deux  petits  chapeaux 
de  castor  arranges  avec  des  plumes,  un  petit  parasol, 
et  quelques  paires  de  gants  a  femme,  vous  me  feriez 
bien  plaisir,  car  ces  objets  sont  tres  rares  et  tres 
cheres  ici. 

"Courcelle  vous  £cris;  il  vous  dira  comme  il  m'a 
trouve  changee ;  enfin,  il  ne  m'appelle  que  sa  vieille. 
Vous  pensez  bien  qu'on  n'est  pas  a  vingt-sept  ans  ce 
que  Ton  e"toit  a  dix-neufs, — et  sept  ans  de  malheurs 
ne  m'ont  pas  rajeunie.  Je  ne  dis  pas  de  meme  de 
lui ;  a  quelques  brins  de  cheveux  blancs  pres,  il  est 
plus  joli  homme  qu 'avant  son  depart,  ou,  du  moins, 
je  le  trouve  tel.  Adieu,  mon  cher  frere,  je  vous  em- 
brasse  un  million  de  fois,  ainsi  que  votre  charmante 
epouse,  et  je  fais  des  voeux  au  ciel  pour  le  retablis- 
sement  de  votre  sante. 

SOPHIE  DEGREAUX  COURCELLE." 

On  September  6th,  1801,  Henry  Wilder  wrote 
from  Concord  to  Mr.  Van  Schalkwyck,  as  follows : 

"My  dear  Brother, — The  affair  of  my  voyage  to 
the  East  Indies  is  at  last  given  up,  as  Mr.  Lyman 
has  found  it  impossible  to  get  the  vessel  ready  in 

[41] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE      [ITJXWBOI 

season  for  that  voyage,  but  he  will  not  suffer  her  to 
lie  in  port,  and  whatever  voyage  he  does  determine 
upon,  I  may  have  the  same  berth  as  I  should  have 
had,  had  he  been  able  to  have  fitted  her  out  for  the 
N.  W.  voyage.  One  of  the  owners  told  Mr.  Adams 
that  the  vessel  would  now  be  fitted  out  either  for 
France  or  the  Mediterranean,  on  a  trading  voyage. 
I  must  confess  I  should  not  be  very  fond  of  going 
up  the  Straits  now  that  the  Barbary  powers  have 
'let  loose  the  dogs  of  war.'  You,  my  dear  brother, 
and  Mary,  have  been  so  kind  as  to  wish  me  to  go 
with  you  to  Guadeloupe,  and  I  will  own  to  you  that, 
if  the  bargain  for  the  Lancaster  place  had  not  fallen 
through,  nothing  would  give  me  greater  pleasure. 

"  If  I  have  not  written  enough  about  myself,  I  will 
inform  .you  that  I  am  very  well,  and  that  anxiety  for 
the  health  and  happiness  of  my  dear  Mary  and  her 
Schalkwyck  often  engages  the  mind  of  their  brother, 

H.  WILDER." 

To  this  letter  Mr.  Schalkwyck  replied  as  follows: 

"Newburyport,  Sept.  10th,  1801. 
"Your  letter,  my  dear  Henry,  has  been  duly  re- 
ceived, which  informs  me  that  your  voyage  to  the 
East  Indies  has  failed.  I  cannot  say  that  I  am  sorry 
for  it,  because  I  am  far  from  viewing  the  advantages 
of  it  in  the  same  light  with  you.  In  this  case,  it  is  cer- 
tainly necessary  that  you  change  your  plan.  When  I 
first  heard  of  your  going  to  the  East  Indies,  you 
must  remember  what  I  told  you  about  it.  It  struck 

[42] 


1796-1801]  YOUTH 

me  that  if  you  would  go  to  Guadeloupe  with  me, 
where  you  will  find  a  home  and  friends,  make  your- 
self master  of  the  French  language,  and,  a  few 
months  after,  get  into  business,  which  are  very  prof- 
itable there,  it  would  be,  in  my  opinion,  the  best  plan 
you  could  form  in  your  present  time  of  life.  I  have 
no  doubt  but,  having  the  confidence  of  your  friends 
here  and  at  Guadeloupe,  you  cannot  fail  to  succeed. 
*  "I  invite  you,  therefore,  to  think  seriously  on  it, 
only  I  beg  you  to  follow  the  wish  of  your  own  heart. 
In  such  circumstances,  we  ought  always  to  deter- 
mine for  ourselves.  If  your  decision  is  to  go  to  Gua- 
deloupe, you  may  think  how  much  it  will  afford 
me  satisfaction.  It  will  be  an  increase  of  happiness 
to  Mary,  and,  at  Guadeloupe  as  in  every  place,  you 
will  ever  be  treated  as  an  affectionate  brother.  Mary 
has  wrote  to  your  Mamma,  and  tells  her  more  about 
you.  Undoubtedly  she  will  impart  it  to  you.  Since 
you  have  been  gone,  I  feel  much  better,  and  hope  it 
will  continue  so. 

"You,  will  present  my  best  respects  to  your  par- 
.ents,  and  kiss  the  girls  for  me.  We  anticipate  to  see 
you  soon.  Adieu.  I  wish  every  happiness — and  be- 
lieve me, 

"  Your  affectionate  brother  and  good  friend, 

A.  VAN  SCHALKWYCK." 

Henry  decided  to  go  to  Guadeloupe.  Mrs.  Ra- 
pallo,  writing  to  me  of  this  event,  says,  "Your  Uncle 
Henry,  then,  I  think,  about  twenty,  said  he  could 

[43] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE     [ITW-WOI 

not  let  his  sister  go  alone,  with  an  invalid,  to  a  for- 
eign country — that  he  must  go  with  her,  and  return 
when  she  landed."  Doubtless  Henry's  anxiety  for  his 
sister  influenced  him  in  his  decision,  and  this  added 
poignancy  to  her  grief  under  his  loss ;  but  it  is  evi- 
dent that  he  went  with  the  purpose  of  remaining  in 
the  island,  and  pursuing  the  course  recommended 
by  Mr.  Van  Schalkwyck.  On  September  29th,  1801, 
they  sailed  from  Newburyport  for  Guadeloupe. 

In  a  letter  to  my  mother  begun  at  the  same  date, 
her  stepsister  Sally  expresses  her  hope  of  seeing  her 
again  within  two  years.  She  says  also: 

"October  18th.  Ere  this  will  reach  you,  my  dear 
sister,  I  trust  Heaven's  propitious  gales  will  have 
wafted  you  to  the  native  shore  of  our  beloved  Van 
Schalkwyck.  You  will  have  seen  the  lovely  and  in- 
teresting Sophie.  She  can  no  longer  be  called  un- 
fortunate. Her  exiled  husband,  and  beloved  brother 
have  returned  to  her,  and  the  partner  of  that  tender 
brother  makes  up  the  happy  group.  I  wish  you  to 
send  me  a  description  of  this  lovely  woman.  Will 
you  remember  me  to  Courcelle,  and  his  dear  Sophie, 
and  tell  them  I  wish  them  much  happiness?" 

[44] 


CHAPTER  III 

OCTOBER-DECEMBER,  1801 

GUADELOUPE:    INSURRECTION,   DEATH   OF  HENRY 

WILDER  AND  MR.  VAN  SCHALKWYCK, 

PLOT  OF  NEGROES 

ON  their  arrival  at  Guadeloupe  Henry  Wilder 
wrote  as  follows  to  his  parents: 

"Port- Libre  (formerly  Port  Louis)., 
Guadeloupe,  October  22nd,  1801. 

"Dear  and  Honoured  Parents, — It  is  with  the 
greatest  pleasure  that  I  hasten  to  inform  you  of  our 
arrival  at  this  place  in  health  and  safety,  after  a  pas- 
sage of  twenty-two  days  from  Newbury  Port.  Mary 
was  extremely  sick  all  the  time;  the  vessel  being 
small  (seventy-five  tons),  and  accommodations  not 
very  good,  made  it  much  worse  than  it  would  other- 
wise have  been.  Schalkwyck  has  been  as  well,  if  not 
better,  since  he  left  Newbury  Port.  The  sea  air  suits 
his  constitution  very  well.  It  was  about  six  in  the 
afternoon  of  the  21st  when  we  arrived.  I  went  on 
shore  with  the  captain,  who  has  been  very  kind  and 
obliging  to  us,  but  could  not  get  permission  for 
Schalkwyck  to  land,  until  the  physician  of  the  town 
had  visited  the  vessel,  for  it  seems  that  they  are  as 
much  afraid  of  importing  diseases  here  as  we  are. 

"The  evening  we  arrived,  we  were  informed  that 
there  had  been  some  disturbance  at  Point  a  Pitre, 

[45] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isoi 

and  learned,  in  the  morning,  that  General  Lacrosse 
had  sent  officers  to  arrest  Pelage,  the  Deputy  Gov- 
ernor, who  resides  at  the  Point,  and  that  Pelage  had 
called  upon  the  soldiery  to  protect  him,  which  they 
have  done.  It  created  a  considerable  disturbance,  in 
which  there  was  one  man  killed,  and  three  wounded. l 
Pelage  says  that  he  has  been  guilty  of  no  fault  for 
which  he  ought  to  be  arrested. 

"27th.  We  have  news  from  the  Point.  Lacrosse 
is  under  arrest ;  it  is  supposed  that  he  will  be  sent  to 
France.  General  Pelage  is  now  the  Commandant  of 
the  Island.  He  has  issued  several  proclamations  tend- 
ing to  quiet  the  minds  of  the  inhabitants.  He  has 
served  in  the  national  army  in  this  island  eight  years, 
and  has  acquired  and  supported  a  very  good  repu- 
tation. 

"  Isaac  has,  I  suppose,  by  this  time  doubled  Cape 
Horn.  God  grant  we  may  soon  meet  again  in  our 
native  country. 

"  Adieu,  my  dear  parents,  may  all  that  happiness 
which  a  dutiful  child  ought  to  wish  you,  be  yours, 
may  your  declining  years  yet  be  soothed  by  the  pres- 
ence of  all  your  children,  is  the  constant  prayer  of 
your  son, 

HENRY  WILDER." 

4 

Three  days  after  her  arrival  at  Guadeloupe  my 
mother  wrote  as  follows  to  her  parents: 

1  A  letter,  of  later  date,  says  that  Mr.  Courcelle,  Mr.  Van  Schalk- 
wyck's  brother,  was  wounded  in  the  affray. —  ED. 

[46] 


1801]  GUADELOUPE 

"Port  Louis,  Guadeloupe,  Oct.  24th,  1801. 

"I  cannot  for  a  moment  doubt  the  pleasure  my 
most  tenderly  beloved  parents  will  receive,  when 
they  learn  the  safe  arrival  of  their  children  at  their 
wished-for  port ;  and  that  pleasure  will  be  increased, 
I  trust,  by  an  assurance  that,  except  the  fatigue  oc- 
casioned by  the  voyage,  we  are  all  as  well  as  when 
we  left  Newbury  Port. 

"The  first  nine  days  of  our  passage  were  most 
unpleasant,  the  heavens  constantly  overclouded,  the 
wind  contrary,  the  vessel  rolling,  and  thunder  and 
lightning  often  rendering  the  scene  more  dreadful. 
But  to  your  Mary,  half-dead  with  sea-sickness,  all 
was  indifferent,  and  I  heard  Capt.  Basset,  on  the 
tenth  night,  say  to  Mr.  S.  '  I  shall  lay  to  to-night, 
for,  positively,  I  feel  very  unsafe  to  continue  our 
course, — we  have  been  unable  to  take  the  sun  these 
three  days ;  by  my  reckoning,  we  must  be  very  near 
the  Bermudas,  and  I  should  not  like  to  run  on  the 
rocks,  as  many  vessels  do  every  year;'  I  heard  this — 
I  heard  them  all  expatiate  on  the  dangers  of  that 
fatal  cluster  of  islands,  situated  in  the  middle  of  the 
ocean,  and  so  low  they  cannot  be  discovered  in  the 
night  till  you  are  near, — often  too  near  them — with- 
out the  least  emotion ;  the  idea  of  death  was  neither 
painful  nor  terrific, — so  totally  had  the  long  contin- 
uance of  sea-sickness  unnerved  body  and  mind,  that 
I  should  scarcely  have  raised  my  hand  to  save  my 
life.  This  illness  continued,  in  a  degree,  the  twenty- 
two  days  of  our  passage.  I  was  carried  every  day  by 

[47] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isoi 

the  captain  and  Henry  from  the  cabin,  and  laid  on 
a  mattrass  on  the  deck;  and,  at  night,  I  can  com- 
pare my  feelings  on  returning  to  my  berth  only  to 
those  of  the  slave,  who  feels  his  cruel  master  load- 
ing him  with  chains.  Praised  be  Providence!  Mr. 
Schalkwyck  was  rather  better  than  worse  during  the 
passage;  and  Henry,  except  the  first  two  or  three 
days,  very  well.  Our  servant  was  not  sick,  and  was 
remarkably  faithful  and  attentive. 

"  By  the  dawning  of  day  on  the  morn  of  the  21st 
of  October,  I  was  awaked  by  the  cry  of '  all  hands 
ahoa,'  and  a  moment  after,  Henry  slid  into  the  cabin, 
with  the  joyful  news  of  land.  The  island  of  Deseada 
was  in  view,  rising  like  a  mountain  from  the  bosom 
of  ocean.  I  cannot  express  my  sensations  on  behold- 
ing the  firm  land  once  more,  and  they  were  height- 
ened to  an  almost  painful  degree  when,  a  few  hours 
after,  Guadeloupe  arose  like  a  faint  cloud  on  the 
horizon.  The  heat  of  the  sun  was  insupportable.  I 
was  carried  to  my  berth,  whence  I  was  summoned, 
at  three  o'clock,  to  witness  a  scene  new  and  roman- 
tic, beyond  anything  I  ever  imagined.  We  were  half 
a  mile  from  the  shore,  but  it  appeared  to  me  near 
enough  to  have  shaken  hands  with  any  one  there. 
The  land  terminates  abruptly  by  a  perpendicular  de- 
scent to  the  sea,  and,  as  you  sail  slowly  along  this 
coast,  innumerable  caverns  meet  the  eye,  hollowed 
by  the  hand  of  nature,  but  apparently  the  work  of 
art.  These  caverns  were  the  abode  of  the  ancient  in- 
habitants of  this  country.  They  preferred  living  in 

[48] 


1801]  GUADELOUPE 

their  dark  recesses,  and  subsisting  on  fish  with  which 
the  shore  abounds,  to  erecting  houses,  and  cultiva- 
ting the  fertile  earth.  No  verdure  can  be  more  bright 
than  the  plantations  of  sugar-cane,  no  inanimate  ob- 
ject more  majestic  than  the  palm  and  cocoa  trees, 
that  extend  everywhere  their  hospitable  shade.  We 
anchored  in  the  harbor  of  Port  Louis.  Previous  to 
the  Revolution,  this  was  a  rich  and  flourishing  town, 
but  now  it  presents  cruel  evidence  of  the  devasta- 
tions of  war.  On  anchoring,  Mr.  S.  wrote  to  the  Com- 
mandant, requesting  permission  to  land;  he  wrote 
also  to  Mr.  Tronquier,  his  tutor,  for  four  or  five 
years,  in  the  University  of  Paris,  to  inform  him  of 
his  arrival.  We  received  an  immediate  invitation  to 
come  to  his  house,  and  the  next  morning,  after  the 
physician  and  captain  of  the  port  had  been  on  board, 
we  received  permission  to  land.  At  the  sight  of  land, 
I  felt  strong  emotion,  but  when  my  foot  first  felt 
the  earth,  when  I  found  myself  at  liberty  to  walk, 
an  exercise  I  had  not  taken  for  three  weeks, — my 
sight,  my  little  strength  forsook  me,  and  I  fainted. 
On  opening  my  eyes,  I  found  myself  surrounded  by 
more  than  a  hundred  people  of  all  colours,  and  ap- 
parently of  all  conditions ;  it  was  the  day  of  the  Dec- 
ade, and  therefore  the  crowd  of  gentlemen,  soldiers, 
and  mulattresses  was  very  great.  When  sufficiently 
recovered,  I  was  placed  in  a  chair,  and  carried  by 
negroes  to  the  house  of  Mr.  T. 

"October  27th.  I  flatter  myself  my  dear  parents 
will  not  receive  intelligence  of  the  change  in  the  nil- 

[49] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

ers  of  this  Island,  till  they  receive  my  letter.  Henry 
will  give  you  an  account  of  the  late  disturbance ;  for 
a  few  hours  it  was  terrific, — but  all  is  past.  Be  not 
therefore  anxious.  General  Pelage,  who  is  the  suc- 
cessor of  General  Lacrosse,  promises  protection  to 
the  emigrants,  and  has  issued  a  proclamation  in  which 
he  assures  them  they  shall  be  better  treated  than  by 
his  predecessor.  Many  royalists  return  daily,  and  are 
as  well  received  by  Pelage  as  by  Lacrosse.1 

"  I  cannot  express  the  degree  of  kindness  and  at- 
tention we  receive  from  the  inhabitants  of  this  place. 
Many  of  Mr.  S.'s  relations  and  friends  have  been  to 
see  us,  particularly  Courcelle,  and  Madame  Crui- 
selly,  his  mother's  sister,  who  insists  on  our  passing 
some  time  at  her  house.  I  believe,  however,  we  shall 
go  very  soon  to  Point  a  Pitre  by  water,  and  from 
thence  by  land  to  St.  Ann's.  I  have  had  the  hap- 
piness to  be  received  in  the  most  affectionate  man- 
ner by  all  the  friends  of  Mr.  S.  I  am  particularly 
gratified  by  the  cordial  warmth  of  an  old  and  very 
respectable  lady,  who  has  lately  returned  with  her 
family  from  Martinique.  She  is  the  grandmother  of 
Madame  Boisaubin,  and  a  near  relation  of  Mr.  S's. 

1  From  Lacour's  "  Histoire  de  Guadeloupe,"  I  learn  that  many  emi- 
grants returned  to  the  island  after  an  encouraging  proclamation  in  June, 
1801,  but  a  large  number  soon  hastened  to  leave  it,  fearing  devastation 
and  carnage  such  as  had  been  the  portion  of  San  Domingo.  The  army 
was  composed  nine-tenths  of  blacks  and  mulattoes.  When  the  revolt  oc- 
curred on  October  21st,  which  put  Pelage,  a  mulatto,  in  the  office  of 
commandant  of  the  island,  in  place  of  Lacrosse,  a  general  alarm  was 
sounded,  and  there  was  great  consternation,  the  people  fearing  an  im- 
mediate outbreak  of  pillage  and  massacre  by  the  blacks. —  ED. 

[50] 


1801]  GUADELOUPE 

She  embraces  me,  and  calls  me  her  dear  little  daugh- 
ter. I  wish,  Mamma,  you  could  see  her, — she  is  the 
image  of  goodness,  benevolence,  and  graceful  sweet- 
ness personified.  Monsieur  and  Madame  Tronquier 
treat  us  like  their  children ;  and,  indeed,  was  there 
nothing  but  the  hospitality,  and  the  frank  and  easy 
manners  of  the  people  to  recommend  this  place,  that 
alone  would  be  sufficient." 

From  my  mother: 

"Point  a  Pitre,  Nov.  5th,  1801. 

"The  embargo  which  has  been  laid  on  all  vessels 
in  this  port,  ever  since  the  arrest  of  General  Lacrosse, 
will  be  taken  off  this  day.  I  will,  therefore,  close  my 
little  packet,  and  send  it  to  one  of  the  American  cap- 
tains, for  I  would  not  that  my  dear  parents  should 
receive  intelligence  of  the  disturbance  in  this  place, 
till  they  receive  it  from  the  pen  of  their  daughter. 
Such  things  are  usually  exaggerated,  and  I  know  you 
would  feel  very  unhappy  till  you  heard  from  us. 

"  Since  I  wrote  you  last,  Mr.  S.  has  waited  on  Gen- 
eral Pelage,  and  has  been  received  as  well  as  his  most 
sanguine  expectations.  The  General  assured  him  of 
his  protection  while  he  lived,  and  told  him,  if  he 
wished  for  anything  in  his  power  to  grant,  to  come 
to  him  at  any  time.  Mr.  S.  is  now  settling  with  the 
persons  who  have  hired  his  plantations  of  the  Re- 
public. We  expect  to  go  to  one  of  them  in  the  course 
of  a  few  days.  We  are  now  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Lande- 
ville,  who  is  one  of  the  first  men  in  the  island.  We 

[51] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [iwi 

have  been  received  with  the  same  hospitality  and 
kindness  we  experienced  at  Port  Louis.  Mr.  and  Ma- 
dame Landeville  are  extremely  amiable  and  pleasing 
persons,  and  do  every  thing  in  their  power  to  make 
me  forget  I  am  with  strangers. 

"Early,  last  evening,  the  inhabitants  were  ordered 
to  close  their  doors,  as  General  Lacrosse  was  going 
to  be  embarked  for  France.  The  troops,  to  the  num- 
ber of  twenty-five  hundred,  were  all  under  arms,  and 
patrolled  the  streets  during  the  night.  Quiet  prevails 
this  morning,  and  every  one  resumes  their  various 
employments  and  pleasures.  I  shall,  however,  quit 
Point  k  Pitre  with  pleasure, — the  tranquillity  of  the 
country  was  ever  pleasing  to  my  heart,  and  we  ex- 
pect to  reside  in  the  pleasantest  part  of  the  island, 
in  an  airy  and  healthy  situation." 

The  following  letter  from  Henry  Wilder  is  di- 
rected to  Mr.  Samuel  Clark,  Charleston,  S.  C. : 

"Island  of  Guadeloupe,  Point  a  Pitre, 

8th  November,  1801. 

"My  brother-in-law  is  much  better  than  when  he 
left  Massachusetts.  He  has  recovered  one  of  his  sugar 
plantations  since  he  came,  and  is  in  a  very  good  way 
to  get  the  others.  It  has  been  very  sickly  for  the  last 
three  months,  but  now  is  as  healthy  as  usual. 

"There  has  been,  too,  a  little  disturbance  in  the 
Government,  which  has  frightened  some  poor  souls 
almost  to  death,  but  I  believe  all  is  over  now. 
"  I  am  going  to  the  country  for  a  month  or  two, 
[52] 


1801]  GUADELOUPE 

after  which  I  expect  to  take  up  my  residence  in  this 
town,  where  any  commands  from  you,  or  any  of  your 
friends,  will  be  attended  to  with  pleasure. 
"  With  sentiments  of  friendship  and  esteem, 

I  remain, 

H.  WILDER." 

i 

Soon,  too  soon,  his  purposes  were  broken  off!  The 
very  morning  on  which  this  letter  is  dated  he  was 
seized  with  yellow  fever,  which  at  the  end  of  the 
fourth  day  terminated  his  life. 

The  next  record  is  my  mother's  letter  to  her  min- 
ister in  Concord,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Ripley.  Upon  the  out- 
side of  this  letter  I  find  the  following  words  in  my 
mother's  handwriting:  "This  letter,  which  cost  me 
agony  inconceivable,  was  written  15th  November, 
1801,  three  days  after  the  death  of  my  beloved 
Henry." 

"Point  a  Pitre,  November,  1801. 

"My  dear  and  good  Sir, — Have  compassion  on  a 
heart  almost  broken  with  affliction,  and  spare  me  a 
particular  recital  of  the  sickness  which,  in  four  days, 
terminated  the  life  of  a  brother  too,  too  well  be- 
loved. 

"O  Sir!  you  must  impart  this  soul-rending  intel- 
ligence to  my  unfortunate  mother.  How  she  will 
support  it,  God  knows!  I  cannot  tell  her  she  has  no 
longer  a  son.  O  God!  have  mercy  on  us! 

"Tell  my  mother  to  live — to  live  for  the  sake  of 
her  other  friends — especially  bid  her  remember  that 

[53] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isoi 

the  life  of  her  daughter  is  woven  with  hers, — that, 
without  the  hope  of  embracing  her  again,  Mary  would 
sink  to  the  grave.  Remind  her  of  the  innocence  of  his 
life,  of  that  sweet  and  heavenly  temper  which  did,  and 
which  willed,  ill  to  no  one — remind  her  that  his  short 
life  was  spent  in  the  cultivation  of  the  talents  God  had 
given  him — remind  her  that  he  has  no  longer  pain, 
sorrow,  or  death  to  suffer.  Tell  her  his  life  closed  re- 
markably tranquil,  and  that  he  is  now  an  angel  in 
Heaven. 

"Dear,  dear  Henry,  why  should  I  wish  thee  back 
in  this  world,  so  full  of  sorrow  and  distress,  where 
every  day  brings  new  affliction,  where  we  love,  but 
to  lose  the  objects  of  our  tenderness,  where  we  hope, 
but  to  be  disappointed !  Henry,  dearest  Henry !  thou 
wast  to  me  a  Father — Brother — Friend, — too  much 
the  object  of  my  pride  and  my  affection.  God  has 
punished  me  by  removing  thee  from  me.  I  adore  His 
decree, — I  submit  to  His  will, — tho'  it  pierces  my 
heart  with  indescribable  sorrow. 

"  Tell  my  dear  mother  we  have  the  consolation  of 
reflecting  Henry  had  every  possible  attention.  If  hu- 
man aid  could  have  saved  him,  he  would  be  yet  alive. 
He  was  attended  by  a  celebrated  physician  and  two 
nurses.  On  Monday  morning,  he  was  seized  with  the 
yellow  fever — on  Thursday  evening,  God  reclaimed 
the  soul  He  had  given. 

"To-morrow,  Mr.  S.  and  myself  expect  to  leave 
this  place  for  St.  Ann's.  From  thence  I  intend  wri- 
ting to  my  American  friends. 

[54] 


1801]  GUADELOUPE 

"My  dear  Sir,  I  give  you  a  most  painful  task  to 
fulfil,  but  I  know  your  goodness.  My  mother  is  com- 
paratively happy  to  receive  this  sad  intelligence  from 
one  so  able  to  impart  consolation.  As  for  me — I 
would  have  given  worlds  to  have  heard  your  voice 
yesterday.  My  husband  is  deeply  affected,  and  far 
from  being  well.  He  loved  Henry,  and  sincerely  re- 
grets our  irreparable  loss. 

"  Have  the  goodness  to  tell  my  parents  not  to  be 
anxious  on  my  account.  I  have  paid  the  tribute  to 
the  country.  For  five  days  after  my  arrival  in  this 
town,  I  was  sick  with  a  high  fever,  every  night  and 
morn,  but  now  I  have  no  illness,  save  that  grief  which 
lies  at  my  heart. 

"Adieu,  my  dear  Sir.  This  letter  has  cost  me  many 
tears,  and  much  agony,  but  I  could  not  bear  the  idea 
of  my  parents  receiving  the  intelligence  it  contains 
from  an  indifferent  person,  perhaps  by  the  news- 
paper. 

"Again,  adieu,  my  respected  Friend.  You  know 
those  who  are  most  dear  to  me — assure  them  they 
are  dearer  than  ever  to  the  heart  of 

MARY  VAN  SCHALKWYCK." 

Among  our  most  precious  memorials  of  my  mother 
and  of  her  beloved  Henry  is  a  manuscript  volume 
of  extracts,  upon  the  first  page  of  which  she  has  in- 
scribed the  date, "  Marie  Galante,  January  4th,  1802," 
and  upon  another,  the  following  sketch : 

"Henry  Wilder  was  born  in  Lancaster,  Massa- 
[55] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isoi 

chusetts,  27th  April,  1782.  His  opening  youth  gave 
promise  of  every  virtue,  his  riper  manhood  confirmed 
them  all.  Lovely  in  his  person,  his  fine  form  was  a 
fit  temple  for  the  spirit  of  dignity  and  truth  by  which 
it  was  animated.  His  large  and  expressive  blue  eye 
beamed  tenderness,  but  oftener  was  fixed  in  sublime 
contemplation.  His  complexion  was  of  the  spiritual 
kind  that  discloses  every  emotion  of  the  soul.  'The 
conscious  blood  rose  in  his  cheek,  and  so  distinct- 
ly wrought,  that  one  might  almost  say,  his  body 
thought.'  This  is  a  faint  sketch  of  the  lovely  exterior 
of  Henry — but  who  shall  display  his  virtues,  who  do 
justice  to  his  modest,  but  transcendent  merit?  What 
to  others  was  toil  was,  to  him,  amusement.  He  de- 
lighted in  abstruse  study,  and  his  lightest  amuse- 
ments were  arts  which  others  attain  but  by  study. 
A  self-taught  painter  and  musician,  whose  tones 
were  sweeter  than  Henry's  ?  Who  breathed,  like  him, 
the  soul  of  harmony  ?  The  warbling  of  his  flute  stole 
on  the  ear  of  night,  and,  like  Henry,  deserving 
universal  admiration,  shunned  it.  The  melody  fled 
with  the  soul  of  Henry,  but  the  magic  tints  of  his 
pencil  remain.  Thy  music  is  no  more, — the  tints  of 
thy  pencil  will  fade, — but  thy  virtues,  Henry,  are 
recorded  in  the  book  of  the  Almighty.  And,  when 
'the  heavens  shall  pass  away  like  a  scroll,  and  the 
elements  melt  with  fervent  heat,'  thou  wilt  appear 
with  the  Judge  of  heaven  and  earth,  clothed  with 
the  white  robe,  and,  having  the  palm  of  victory  in 
thine  hand,  wilt  receive  a  crown  of  immortal  glory." 

[56] 


1801]  GUADELOUPE 

My  mother  has  left  many  touching  expressions 
of  what  Henry  was  to  her  in  his  life,  and  of  her 
grief  under  his  loss.  None  are  more  affecting  than 
those  in  her  handwriting  upon  the  pages  of  his 
Bible,  from  which  I  will  copy  a  passage.  This  cher- 
ished volume,  which  descended  to  my  Uncle  Henry's 
namesake,  the  Rev.  Henry  Wilder  Foote,  was  first 
in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Foote's  mother,  who  was 
the  youngest  daughter  of  my  mother,  born  but  six 
months  before  her  death;  she  inherited,  with  her 
mother's  name,  her  beautiful  qualities  of  mind  and 
heart,  and  left  a  memory  which  is  in  perfect  accord 
with  those  to  which  we  now  "do  reverence." 

At  the  end  of  the  Bible,  on  a  fly-leaf,  are  these 
words,  written  by  my  mother,  in  pencil: 

"Yes,  my  beloved  Henry,  I  vow  to  cherish  thy 
memory, — while  I  live,  thou  shalt  live  also.  Though 
dead  to  all  the  world  beside,  in  my  heart  thou  shalt 
live  for  ever." 

Among  my  mother's  papers  I  find  a  scrap  upon 
which  are  written  the  following  words : 

"Possessed  of  every  virtue,  adorned  with  every 
talent,  his  person  remarkably  beautiful,  his  mind  re- 
markably strong,  his  understanding  clear  and  pro- 
found, his  manners  mild  and  unassuming,  the  rose 
blushed  on  his  cheek,  intelligence  beamed  in  his  blue 
eye.  Such  was  H.  W." 

On  another  sheet  are  written  the  following  lines: 

"Sunday.  In  the  dawn  of  manhood,  in  the  bloom 
of  beauty,  surrounded  by  fair  opening  prospects — 

[57] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [iwi 

thy  lips  were  sealed,  thine  eyes  were  closed,  ahd  the 
grave  shut  in  upon  thee.  Blessed  be  God!  Praised 
be  the  wise  and  merciful  Disposer  of  all  events !  The 
sorrows  of  life,  the  snares  of  vice,  the  terrors  of  death, 
shall  have  no  power  over  thee.  Thou  hast  run  the 
race,  thou  hast  won  the  victory,  and  everlasting  in- 
nocence and  peace  shall  wreathe  thy  brows. 

"  The  God  whom  thy  father  worshipped,  the  God 
of  universal  nature,  beheld  the  cherished  creature 
He  had  formed.  He  saw  the  talents  He  had  bestowed 
doubled  in  thy  keeping.  He  saw  thee  mature  for 
Heaven,  though  few  years  had  passed  over  thee,  and 
in  pity  spared  thee  a  longer  trial.  Yes,  my  brother 
— thou  art  in  Heaven,  thou  hast  rejoined  thy  sainted 
father  1 0  my  father — my  brother — look  from  Heav- 
en, and  guide  and  guard  thy  child  and  sister — a  poor 
wanderer,  bathing  the  path  of  life  with  the  bitter 
tears  of  affliction.  And  Thou — Oh,  my  eternal  and 
omnipotent  Father!  Thou,  who  wilt  never  desert  the 
creature  who  looks  to  Thee  for  support, — be  Thou 
the  lamp  to  guide  my  feet,  be  Thou  my  shield  in 
the  hour  of  temptation!  Enable  me  to  do  and  to 
suffer  all  Thy  will, — and  finally,  when  I  have  lived 
long  enough  to  answer  the  purposes  of  my  creation, 
receive  me  to  Thy  bosom,  for  the  sake  of  my  Sa- 
viour, Jesus  Christ.  Amen." 

Again,  on  one  page  of  a  sheet  which  contains  a 
French  exercise  in  Henry's  handwriting,  my  mother 
has  written  as  follows: 

"  That  form  which  was  the  object  of  my  pride,  and 
[58] 


1801]  GUADELOUPE 

my  admiration,  is  now  mouldering  into  dust.  Ah, 
my  brother !  the  most  perfect  beauty,  the  finest  tal- 
ents, the  best  heart,  the  most  innocent  life,  could 
not  arrest  the  stroke  of  Death.  All  were  combined 
in  thee, — and  thou  art  gone  forever.  No  more  shall 
I  listen  to  the  melody  of  thy  music,  no  more  shall 
my  eye  delight  to  dwell  on  the  graces  of  thy  person, 
— no  more  shall  my  sorrowing  heart  repose  itself  on 
thy  fraternal  bosom,  and  find  there  wisdom,  tender- 
ness, and  consolation.  In  sickness,  thou  wert  my 
nurse, — in  health,  my  dear  companion, — at  all  times, 
in  all  circumstances,  my  tender  friend, — and  thou 
art  gone  forever, — forever.  O  my  God,  grant  me 
strength  to  support  this  great  affliction ! " 

The  following  lines,  on  another  page,  remind  one, 
as  do  some  of  these  already  copied,  of  Eugenie  de 
Gue'rin's  attempt,  after  her  brother's  death,  to  keep 
for  him  a  journal,  addressing  it  "to  Maurice  in 
Heaven." 

"The  acacia,  with  its  thorny  arms  and  fragrant 
flowers  shall  guard  and  perfume  thy  grave,  and  the 
sensitive  plant,  fit  emblem  of  thy  modest  merit,  shall 
delight  to  dwell  on  the  sod  which  covers  thee.  Ac- 
cept, beloved  Henry,  this  tribute  of  fraternal  affec- 
tion, and  suffer  me  to  place  this  little  wild  flower  in 
the  wreath  with  which  justice  has  bound  thy  brow." 

The  next  letter  we  have  from  my  mother  brings 
us  to  her  second  great  bereavement.  The  one  "dated 
from  St.  Ann,"  of  which  she  speaks  as  her  "last," 
if  it  reached  its  destination,  has  not  been  preserved. 

[59] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isoi 

It  is  a  disappointment  not  to  find  this  and  other  let- 
ters which,  in  her  correspondence  from  Guadeloupe, 
she  mentions  having  written  to  her  American  friends. 
Fortunately,  however,  what  we  have  give  a  vivid  pic- 
ture of  the  scenes  through  which  she  passed  during 
this  most  eventful  year  of  her  life. 

"Marie  Galantc,  December  22nd,  1801. 
"Ten  days  past,  I  have  endeavoured  to  acquire 
fortitude  sufficient  to  enable  me  to  write  my  dear 
parents.  In  vain  have  I  strove.  At  the  present  mo- 
ment I  shrink  from  the  task,  and  feel  it  too  painful 
to  be  supported.  But,  let  me  not,  by  a  selfish  wish 
to  avoid  reciting  late  desolating  events,  risk  your  suf- 
fering more  by  an  abrupt  communication  of  the  ir- 
reparable loss  your  unfortunate  daughter  has  sus- 
tained. Ere  you  receive  the  present,  you  will  have 
wept  the  sudden  death  of  my  too  tenderly  beloved 
brother, — ah!  you  thought  not,  at  the  same  time,  I 
was  deploring  the  united  loss  of  S  chalk wyck  and 
Henry.  My  last  letter  was  dated  from  St.  Ann.  We 
were  then  near  one  of  our  plantations.  Mr.  Schalk- 
wyck  as  well  as  usual,  except  a  relaxness ;  both  of 
us  anticipated,  when  time  should  have  softened  our 
regret  for  the  departure  of  our  dear  Henry,  finding 
in  domestic  life,  in  the  society  of  our  amiable  friends, 
and  in  the  charming  scenery  of  St.  Ann  and  St.  Fran- 
cois, as  high  a  degree  of  felicity  as  is  usually  allotted 
to  mortals.  It  is  true,  the  loss  of  Henry  would  have 
ever  cast  a  shade  over  the  brightest  day  of  life,  but, 

[60] 


1801]  GUADELOUPE 

while  my  husband  remained  to  me,  I  ever  found  the 
tender  consolation  of  knowing  I  possessed  a  friend 
who  valued  more  my  happiness  than  his  own,  who 
shared  in  all  my  feelings,  who  participated  in  every 
joy,  in  every  sorrow.  After  my  letter  from  St.  Ann, 
Mr.  S.  became  worse ;  but,  two  days  after  my  last, 
he  went  with  me  to  our  plantation  at  St.  Francois. 
On  our  arrival,  he  was  carried  to  his  chamber,  which 
he  never  after  left.  After  some  days,  the  sore  mouth 
commenced, — he  suffered  twice  more  than  any  one 
I  ever  saw, — with  pain  he  respired,  with  agony  he 
took  the  sustenance  necessary.  Night  and  day  were 
the  same, — he  slept  not.  We  had  three  physicians. 
Eight  days  before  his  death  they  told  me  I  must 
hope  no  more.  I  dwell  not  on  the  agony  of  that  mo- 
ment. It  was  to  me  like  the  stroke  of  death.  Mr.  and 
Madame  Richebois,  our  brother  and  sister  Courcelle, 
and  some  other  friends,  were  constantly  with  me. 
Eight  nights,  I  slept  not;  sometimes,  I  reposed  a 
few  moments  in  a  hammock,  but  it  was  the  repose 
of  a  breaking  heart.  Three  days  before  the  release  of 
my  beloved  friend,  I  prayed  God  to  take  him  from 
woe  to  bliss.  His  frame  suffered  all  that  the  frame 
of  man  can  suffer,  but  his  soul  was  at  peace.  On  Sun- 
day, December  10th,  at  two  o'clock  P.M.,  he  per- 
ceived himself  dying.  At  that  awful  moment,  he 
commended  me  fervently  to  the  care  of  Courcelle. 
I  pass  rapidly  over  the  most  cruel  day  of  my  life. 
At  nine  o'clock,  Sabbath  evening,  without  a  groan, 
without  a  sigh,  in  the  full  possession  of  his  reason, 

[61] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isoi 

expired  the  tenderest  husband,  the  sincerest  and  most 
disinterested  of  friends.  O  my  God !  't  was  by  Thy 
strength  alone  I  was  enabled  to  support  that  scene! 
"The  next  morning,  I  was  carried  to  the  house 
of  Madame  Courcelle.  I  received,  and  continue  to 
receive,  from  all  that  amiable  family,  and,  indeed, 
from  all  the  relations  and  friends  of  Mr.  S.  the  ten- 
derest attention,  the  warmest  professions  of  friend- 
ship,— but  one  event  has  succeeded  another  with 
such  rapidity,  I  have  been  scarcely  able  to  discrim- 
inate the  tears  of  grief  for  past  misfortunes  from 
those  of  apprehension  for  the  future.  Four  days 
after  the  death  of  my  husband,  we  were  informed 
the  negroes  at  Point  a  Pitre,  dreading  the  arrival 
of  the  troops  from  France,  had  entered  into  a  con- 
spiracy to  destroy  all  the  white  inhabitants.  They 
assembled  to  the  number  of  three  thousand  in  the 
night, — their  chiefs  were  selected, — when  a  negro 
girl  informed  Pelage  (the  mulatto  General)  of  the 
plot.  He  marched  with  his  troops  immediately  against 
the  wretches.  Three  of  the  chiefs  were  killed  on  the 
spot,  six  taken  prisoners,  and  all  the  negroes  dis- 
persed. Still,  however,  the  white  inhabitants  trem- 
bled with  apprehension  lest  to-morrow  should  ac- 
complish what  to-day  accomplished  not.  All  who 
could  leave  the  island  emigrated  to  other  isles,  to 
await  there  the  arrival  of  the  troops  from  France. 
Mr.  and  Madame  Courcelle,  Mademoiselle  Coutoute, 
myself,  and  five  domestics,  with  many  other  inhab- 
itants, put  ourselves  on  board  a  little  vessel  bound 

[62] 


1801]  GUADELOUPE 

to  this  isle.  Here,  all  is  tranquil;  we  receive,  daily, 
the  utmost  hospitality  and  kindness  from  the  peo- 
ple, and  expect  to  remain  here  till  the  troops  have 
reestablished  tranquillity  in  Guadeloupe.  Nothing 
but  the  Peace  would  have  been  able  to  inspire  con- 
fidence in  the  bosom  of  the  unfortunate  Guadelou- 
pians.  We  doubt  not  but  peace  will  restore  all  the 
tranquillity  we  wish.  We  expect,  in  the  course  of  six 
weeks,  twelve  or  fifteen  thousand  troops  from  France. 
I  need  not  say,  the  circumstance  will  occasion  inex- 
pressible joy  to  the  inhabitants. 

"At  present,  my  dear  Parents,  suffer  not  appre- 
hension for  my  safety  to  empoison  your  peace.  I  am 
in  health,  in  a  peaceful  and  charming  island,  I  am 
with  amiable  and  tender  friends,  and,  above  all,  I 
am  under  the  protection  of  a  God,  almighty  and  all- 
sufficient.  Mr.  Courcelle  intends  to  accompany  me  to 
New  England  in  the  spring.  'T  is  unnecessary  for  me 
to  say  I  wish,  ardently  wish,  to  return  to  my  native 
country  and  my  beloved  friends.  Fatal,  indeed,  to  my 
happiness,  have  been  the  two  months  I  have  passed 
in  the  West  Indies." 

[From  the  Boston  Gazette,  Jan.  14th,  1802:  "Ar- 
rived yesterday,  schooner  Exchange,  Capt.  Vibert, 
from  Guadeloupe.  Left  it  on  the  llth  [of  December] 
at  which  time  Point  a  Pitre  and  the  whole  of  the 
island  was  in  confusion,  another  insurrection  having 
taken  place  there,  which,  had  it  not  been  fortunately 
discovered  at  the  moment,  would  have  involved  the 

[68] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isoi 

total  destruction  of  every  white  and  mulatto  in  the 
island.  The  rebels  in  the  present  insurrection  were 
the  country  blacks  against  the  whites  and  mulattoes. 
The  former,  having  lent  a  helping  hand  in  the  revolu- 
tion which  had  been  just  effected,  expected  a  total 
emancipation  from  their  masters ;  but  not  finding  that 
event  confirmed,  or  even  contemplated  in  the  Proc- 
lamation of  the  yellow  general,  Pelage,  they  had  de- 
termined to  achieve  their  own  liberty,  through  the 
blood  of  Pelage  and  his  party.  For  this  purpose,  11,- 
000  were  to  have  been  organized  on  the  night  suc- 
ceeding that  on  which  the  plot  was  discovered — to 
have  burnt  the  towns,  and  to  have  murdered  every 
man,  woman,  and  child  of  Pelage's  party !  At  that 
very  moment  only  when  it  could  possibly  have  been 
defeated,  was  the  plot  discovered  by  a  black  woman, 
and  four  of  the  ring-leaders  were  apprehended.  Not- 
withstanding the  bloody  project  had  been  discov- 
ered, and,  for  the  present,  warded  off,  every  thing 
was  apprehended  from  the  vengeance  and  ferocity 
of  the  blacks,  and  all  was  in  the  utmost  confusion."] 

Some  days  later  she  wrote: 

''"Marie  Galante,  Dec.  30th. 
"  I  conclude  my  dear  parents  have  received  my  let- 
ter of  the  nineteenth  of  the  present  month,  and  are 
informed  of  the  unfortunate  circumstances  which 
have  driven  us  from  Guadeloupe,  and  of  the  infinitely 
more  afflicting  circumstance  of  the  loss  of  my  ever 
beloved  husband.  Unfortunate  as  I  am,  I  have  the 

[64] 


1801]  GUADELOUPE 

blessing  of  health,  and  the  unceasing  tenderness  and 
attention  of  all  the  family  of  Mr.  Schalkwyck, — par- 
ticularly the  family  of  Madame  Courcelle,  who  con- 
sider me  as  a  sister. 

**  I  am  inexpressibly  anxious  to  receive  letters  from 
you  and  my  American  friends,  who  are  dearer  than 
ever  to  my  heart.  The  loss  of  my  other  friends  has 
rendered  more  precious  those  which  remain.  God  Al- 
mighty, whose  goodness  has  enabled  me  to  sustain 
the  heaviest  misfortunes,  the  most  heart-rending 
events,  will,  I  trust,  return  me  to  my  native  coun- 
try the  ensuing  spring.  Mr.  and  Madame  Courcelle 
request  me  to  remember  them  respectfully  to  you. 
Both  are  ill  at  present ;  he  has  been  dangerously  at- 
tacked with  the  bilious  fever,  four  domestics  are  ill 
also." 

[65] 


CHAPTER  IV 

JANUARY-OCTOBER,  1802 

GUADELOUPE :  ILLNESSES,  ARRIVAL  OF  TROOPS  FROM 

FRANCE,  BATTLES,  RETURN  TO  THE 

UNITED  STATES 


F 


ROM  Marie  Galante,  January  15th,  1802,  she 
writes : 


"In  a  moment  like  the  present,  agitated  by  con- 
tinual revolutions,  I  feel  seldom  the  courage  to  write 
to  my  beloved  Parents;  for,  to  write  is  to  speak 
only  of  past  woes,  to  detail  distressing  events,  which 
have  wrung,  and  which  will  forever  afflict,  my  heart. 
Since  the  death  of  my  beloved  Henry,  I  have  sent 
three  packets,  by  different  opportunities,  to  my 
friends  in  America,  and,  ere  you  receive  the  present, 
you  will,  I  trust,  be  informed  of  the  succeeding  and 
irreparable  misfortune  I  have  sustained  in  the  loss 
of  my  long-loved,  and  ever  regretted,  Schalkwyck. 
The  omniscient  God  alone  knows  the  sufferings  of 
my  heart,  and  He  alone  was  my  support  under  these 
accumulated  sorrows.  Our  necessary  flight  from 
Guadeloupe,  which  I  considered  as  an  aggravation 
of  them ;  has,  on  the  contrary,  a  good  effect  on  my 
health ;  and,  by  a  change  of  place,  by  the  variety  of 
new  objects,  and  by  the  care  I  necessarily  took  dur- 
ing the  illness  of  Mr.  and  Madame  Courcelle,  my 
mind  was  drawn  from  a  too  intense  contemplation 

[66] 


1802]  GUADELOUPE 

of  my  melancholy  fate.  At  present,  my  most  ardent 
wish  is  to  return  to  the  bosom  of  my  country,  where, 
though  I  expect  not  happiness,  I  hope  for  tranquil- 
lity. This  wish  cannot  be  gratified  before  the  last 
spring  month.  The  settlement  of  Mr.  Schalkwyck's 
estate  will  render  it  impossible  for  me  to  quit  the 
West  Indies  at  an  earlier  period.  We  expect,  every 
day,  the  arrival  of  troops  from  France,  when  we  can 
return  with  security  to  Guadeloupe.  Alas!  how  has 
that  island  been  fatal  to  my  happiness !  I  entered  it 
with  the  most  flattering  prospects  of  felicity  that  ever 
opened  to  mortal  view ;  blessed  with  the  tender  af- 
fection of  a  husband  I  had  long  loved,  with  the  so- 
ciety of  a  brother,  to  whom  I  was  but  too  much  at- 
tached, surrounded  and  caressed  by  the  friends  of 
Mr.  Schalkwyck.  What  a  blank  now  remains !  In  the 
stead  of  the  bright  visions  of  felicity  which  my  fancy 
had  formed,  the  remainder  of  my  life  appears,  to  my 
view,  a  solitary  passage  to  the  grave. 

"February  3rd.  With  a  hand  trembling  with  weak- 
ness, I  continue  my  letter  to  my  dear  Parents.  The 
evening  after  I  wrote  the  above,  I  was  seized  vio- 
lently with  the  fever,  my  life  was  in  the  extremest 
danger  for  four  or  five  days.  I  was  bled  four  times 
in  twenty-four  hours.  Providentially,  I  was  attended 
by  a  physician  who  understands  perfectly  the  Amer- 
ican constitution.  He  has  resided  five  years  in  the 
United  States,  and  understands  perfectly  his  profes- 
sion. My  symptoms  were  the  same  with  my  beloved 
brother.  I  was  seized  in  the  same  manner,  and  had 

[67] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

every  reason  to  suppose  my  illness  would  terminate 
in  the  same  manner  likewise.  But  it  has  pleased  Al- 
mighty God  to  continue  my  life,  for  what  purpose 
I  know  not,  but  I  hope  I  shall  be  able  to  consecrate 
the  remainder  to  the  practise  of  every  virtue  con- 
sistent with  my  situation.  Never,  during  my  illness, 
did  I  feel  the  least  solicitude  to  live  for  any  other 
purpose  than  to  view  again  my  native  country,  and 
embrace  again  my  friends.  Nor  was  that  wish  so 
strong  as  to  prevent  my  saying  with  the  most  per- 
fect sincerity,  '  Oh  God,  Thy  will  in  all  things  be 
done!'  I  must  quit  the  pen — the  irregularity  of  my 
writing  is  a  sufficient  evidence  of  my  present  weak- 
ness. 

"February  4th.  Again  I  resume  the  pen  to  con- 
verse a  few  moments  with  my  dear  Parents  before 
I  close  my  letter.  We  have  received  a  very  pressing 
invitation  from  a  gentleman  of  independent  fortune ; 
who  resides  in  this  island,  about  twenty  miles  from 
the  principal  port  (where  we  now  are),  to  pass  some 
weeks  with  him.  Mr.  and  Madame  Courcelle  wait 
only  till  I  have  sufficient  strength  to  accompany 
them,  when  the  whole  family  will  go.  Perhaps  we 
shall  remain  there  till  the  troops  arrive  from  France. 
Does  it  not  appear  a  little  singular  to  you  for  ten 
persons  to  remain  on  a  visit  at  a  house  for  some 
weeks?  Such  is  the  extraordinary  hospitality  of  the 
country  that  M.  Renard,  when  he  first  heard  of  our 
arrival,  wrote  immediately  for  us  to  come  to  his  hab- 
itation, and  proposed  sending  horses  for  Mr.  and 

[68] 


1802]  GUADELOUPE 

Madame  Courcelle,  and  Mad'lle  Coutoute,  and  a 
hammock  for  me,  as  I  do  not  ride  so  far  on  horse 
back.  It  is  not  probable  I  shall  have  an  opportunity 
to  write  from  the  habitation  of  Mr.  R.,  and,  what  I 
fear  yet  more  is  that  I  shall  not  receive  letters  from 
my  friends  in  America.  Ah !  if  you  knew  how  ear- 
nestly I  desire  to  receive  intelligence  from  you !  and, 
above  all,  how  earnestly  I  desire  to  embrace  you. 

"14th  February.  I  have  news  the  most  interesting 
possible  to  communicate, — the  troops  have  arrived 
from  France.  Yesterday,  I  witnessed  the  entrance 
of  three  fine  French  frigates,  and  as  many  smaller 
vessels,  filled  with  troops.  To-morrow,  other  frigates 
are  expected  with  the  Generals  Lacrosse  &c.  There 
are  already  twenty-three  thousand  men  at  Saint  Do- 
mingo, eleven  hundred  here,  and  twelve  thousand 
are  daily  expected  at  Guadeloupe.  We  witness  noth- 
ing but  rejoicings.  The  inhabitants  assemble,  alter- 
nately, at  each  other's  houses  to  celebrate  the  happy 
event." 

My  mother's  next  letter  to  her  parents  is  dated: 

"Marie  Galante,  March  4th,  1802. 
"  My  last  letter  to  you,  my  dear  Parents,  was  dated 
February: — since  the  departure  of  the  Captain  who 
took  charge  of  it,  I  have  again  had  the  fever.  At 
present,  I  am  convalescent;  my  last  illness  was  nei- 
ther so  long  nor  so  violent  as  the  first ;  of  course,  my 
debility  is  not  so  extreme ;  but  I  cannot  flatter  my- 
self to  enjoy  perfect  health,  till  I  breathe  again  the 

[69] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [ISM 

fresh  gales  of  my  native  country ;  and  have  the  sweet- 
est pleasure  that  remains  for  me  on  earth,  the  pleas- 
ure of  embracing  my  beloved  friends.  Tranquillity  is 
absolutely  necessary  for  the  restoration  of  my  health ; 
I  feel  it  each  hour;  and  each  hour  convinces  me  I 
must  not  expect  it  in  a  country  where  scenes  the 
most  terrible  pass  to-day,  and  to-morrow  are  forgot- 
ten in  splendid  parties  of  pleasure.  The  heart  of  your 
daughter,  after  so  many  shocks,  demands  to  be  left 
to  quiet  melancholy ;  but  my  amiable  friends,  through 
mistaken  kindness,  force  me  into  society.  We  have 
often  the  General  and  his  suite,  and  not  seldom  pass 
the  day  in  a  society  composed  of  fifty  or  sixty  per- 
sons. This,  together  with  my  ill-health,  and  an  ar- 
dent desire  to  embrace  all  that  remains  of  my  family 
have  decided  me  to  return,  ere  long,  to  New  England. 

"March  7th.  When  the  above  was  written,  I  had 
determined  to  return  to  New  England  with  Captain 
Choate,  who  takes  charge  of  my  letters  to  my  friends, 
but  Mr.  Courcelle  objects  so  earnestly,  he  thinks  my 
presence  will  be  so  necessary  in  Guadeloupe  for  the 
settlement  of  Mr.  Schalkwyck's  estate,  and  is  so  un- 
willing for  me  to  return  without  sufficient  funds,  and 
without  an  attendant,  that,  to  gratify  him,  I  have 
decided  to  remain  some  time  longer  in  the  West 
Indies.  The  sacrifice  I  make  to  his  wishes  is  great, 
and  I  know  not  if  I  should  have  decided,  had  not 
many  persons  assured  me  the  season  was  extremely 
dangerous. 

"  I  cannot  express  my  anxiety  to  receive  letters 
[70] 


1802]  GUADELOUPE 

from  you,  my  Parents.  More  than  three  months  have 
elapsed  since  I  have  received  that  happiness.  I  dare 
not  indulge  my  apprehensions  on  your  account, — 
they  are  too  terrible.  I  pray  God  to  grant  me  the 
delightful  satisfaction  of  embracing  you  once  more." 

Again,  she  writes: 

"Marie  Galante,  22nd  March,  1802. 

"  Since  my  last,  by  Captain  Choate,  I  have  passed 
a  decade  in  the  country,  at  the  habitation  of  Ma- 
dame Romane,  a  cousin  of  Madame  Courcelle.  A 
fine,  and  very  extensive  prospect,  pure  air,  and  re- 
tirement, have  had  the  most  favourable  effect  on  my 
health ;  I  am  neither  so  thin,  nor  pale,  as  before,  but 
my  heart  is  more  sad.  I  am  extremely  anxious  on 
your  account,  my  dear  Parents :  to  what  reason  am 
I  to  impute  your  long,  long  silence?  My  apprehen- 
sions are  too  painful:  I  dare  not  think! 

"My  expectation  of  returning  to  New  England 
in  April  has  vanished.  It  is  necessary  there  should 
be  a  written  arrangement  passed  between  Mr.  Riche- 
bois,  Mr.  Courcelle,  and  myself,  before  I  leave  the 
West  Indies :  and,  as  Mr.  R.  is  in  Guadeloupe,  and 
Mr.  C.  is  here,  it  is  impossible  all  should  be  settled 
before  our  return  to  that  island,  unless  Mr.  R.  should 
come  to  Marie  Galante.  But  for  me,  so  earnestly  do 
I  desire  to  embrace  my  dear  friends  in  New  Eng- 
land, I  should  quit  everything  to  be  arranged  by  the 
law,  did  not  all  the  family  oppose  it. 

"The  excessive  heat  has  commenced,  but  the  sea- 

[71] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [ISM 

son  is  not  so  unhealthy  as  the  four  or  five  past  months 
have  been ;  with  you,  winter  still  exercises  his  rig- 
orous reign,  the  fireside  is  still  the  most  agreeable 
place,  and  the  happy  circle  still  meet  to  pass  the  long 
evenings  in  simple  and  innocent  pleasures.  Alas !  why 
do  I  not  inhabit  the  same  world!  Here  is  a  perpet- 
ual summer,  nature  in  itself  is  charming,  but  an  al- 
most general  corruption  has  rendered  the  society  of 
the  grand,  detestable.  Luxury  presides  at  the  board, 
vice  walks  unblushingly  in  the  streets,  and  the  name 
of  religion  is  mentioned  by  the  generality  only  with 
contempt  and  derision.  I  am  not  so  unjust  as  to  in- 
clude all  in  this  picture  of  the  present  manners.  The 
family  of  Madame  Courcelle,  and  many  others,  unite 
the  rarest  virtues  with  the  most  brilliant  talents. 
The  people,  in  general,  are  hospitable  and  generous ; 
but  religion  is  cherished  by  a  number  so  small,  it  is 
scarcely  perceptible.  Ah !  how  much  am  I  indebted 
to  its  divine  consolations!  What  could  have  sup- 
ported, what  still  sustains  me,  but  confidence  in  that 
Being  who  is  ever  powerful,  good,  and  wise  ? 

"  We  expect  daily  the  arrival  of  the  remainder  of 
the  troops  from  France.  There  is  already  a  sufficient 
number  for  Marie  Galante,  but  not  enough  to  re- 
store tranquillity  to  Guadeloupe.  It  is  impossible  to 
express  the  impatience  with  which  we  count  the  days 
and  weeks,  and  the  eagerness  with  which  we  exam- 
ine each  sail  that  appears  on  the  far,  far  distant  hori- 
zon. Ah,  my  dear  Parents,  ah,  my  sisters, — in  the 
tranquil  bosom  of  your  country,  you  can  form  no 

[72] 


1809]  GUADELOUPE 

idea  of  the  present  situation  of  the  West  Indies.  To 
us,  nothing  appears  more  extraordinary  than  the  gai- 
ety, the  extravagance,  and  thoughtlessness  of  this 
people,  in  a  situation  the  most  critical,  surrounded 
by  the  greatest  dangers. 

"March  29th.  Day  after  day  closes,  weeks  and 
months  succeed,  and  I  receive  no  intelligence  from 
New  England.  I  accuse  not  my  friends  of  negligence, 
for  I  am  sure  they  are  incapable  of  neglecting  me; 
specially  in  my  present  situation,  lamenting,  in  a  far 
distant  country,  the  loss  of  a  beloved  husband  and 
brother.  But  I  lament  that  sad  combination  of  cir- 
cumstances which  prevents  my  receiving  the  sweet- 
est consolation  in  the  assurances  of  my  Parents'  un- 
alterable attachment,  of  their  health,  and  of  their 
resignation  to  the  dispensations  of  Providence,  who 
has,  by  the  same  blow,  mutually  afflicted  us. 

"P.  S.  Will  you,  dear  Mamma,  write  a  few  lines 
to  Salla  A.,  and  give  her  a  short  account  of  my  sit- 
uation ?  Assure  her  I  ever  love,  and  cherish  her  re- 
membrance ;  she  is,  and  will  ever  be,  dear  to  my  heart. 
I  would  write,  but  I  dare  not  employ  the  pen,  or  the 
needle,  so  much  as  my  inclination  dictates.  Any  kind 
of  application  brings  on  a  pain  in  the  head,  and  oc- 
casions a  degree  of  fever.  Tell  her  I  have  already 
written  twice,  but  have  not  received  a  line  from  her." 

By  "Salla  A."  is  meant  Miss  Atherton  of  Elm 
Hill,  Lancaster,  Mass.  Elm  Hill  is  a  beautiful  spot, 
which  I  remember  my  father's  pointing  out  to  my  sis- 

[73] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

ter  and  myself,  during  our  interesting  drive  through 
the  town,  as  the  one  where,  with  her  friends  the 
Athertons,  to  whom  she  was  much  attached,  my 
mother  often  stayed  both  before  and  after  her  resi- 
dence in  the  West  Indies.  The  following  letter,  with- 
out date  or  address,  which  I  find  among  her  papers, 
I  suppose  may  have  been  written  to  these  friends: 

"The  moment  of  my  arrival  in  Guadeloupe  was 
a  moment  the  most  critical,  the  very  day  when  a 
formidable  insurrection  had  placed  a  mulatto  General 
at  the  head  of  government ;  terror  and  distrust  was 
painted  on  every  countenance.  Alas!  the  clouds  of 
the  morning  were  but  too  ominous  of  the  stormy  day 
that  advanced  to  destroy  my  peace.  In  three  weeks 
after  my  arrival,  I  lost  my  beloved  Henry,  after  an 
illness  of  four  days.  In  the  agony  of  the  moment,  I 
thought  nothing  could  add  to  my  sufferings.  I  was 
fatally  undeceived  in  three  weeks  more,  by  the  death 
of  that  dear  friend  for  whom  I  had  left  my  family, 
my  friends,  and  native  country.  Misfortune  suc- 
ceeded misfortune  with  a  rapidity  that  confounded 
my  senses.  Every  day  I  heard  of  horrors,  every  night 
retired  to  my  chamber  with  an  expectation  of  being 
assassinated  before  morning.  The  dangerous  situation 
of  Guadeloupe  induced  the  family  of  my  husband, 
with  many  others,  to  quit  the  island,  and  seek  in 
Marie  Galante  an  asylum  till  the  arrival  of  the  troops 
from  France.  Scarcely  did  I  find  myself  in  a  more 
secure  abode,  when  I  was  attacked  with  the  fever  in 

[74] 


1802]  GUADELOUPE 

the  same  manner  as  my  brother.  An  eminent  physi- 
cian attended  me,  and,  by  bleeding  me  four  times  in 
twenty-four  hours,  my  fever  was  diminished,  but  I 
was  left  in  an  alarming  state  of  weakness,  which  ter- 
minated in  the  fever  and  ague.  At  present,  I  begin 
to  taste  the  sweets  of  returning  health,  but  my  heart 
sighs  more  fervently  than  ever  for  my  native  coun- 
try, and  for  those  dear  friends  from  whom  I  have  been 
so  long  separated." 

From  my  mother's  next  letter  to  her  parents,  it 
appears  that  her  hope  of  hearing  from  them  was  still 
deferred.  The  letter  is  dated : 

"April  21st,  Marie  Galante,  1802. 

"  Capt.  Chadwick  has,  in  a  degree,  relieved  my  anx- 
iety on  account  of  my  dear  Parents.  He  has  assured 
me  he  saw  Uncle  Hurd  three  or  four  days  before  he 
left  Boston,  and,  had  any  misfortune  taken  place  in 
the  family,  he  would  have  informed  him.  At  present, 
my  health  is  re-established,  but  the  uncertainty  at 
what  period  the  troops  will  arrive  from  France,  and 
enable  me  to  return  to  Guadeloupe,  has  almost  de- 
cided me  to  embrace  the  first  good  opportunity  to 
return  to  New  England.  Possibly,  in  the  course  of 
three  or  four  weeks  I  shall  embark. 

"Could  you,  at  present,  behold  this  island,  I  am 
sure  you  would  be  wrapped  in  the  most  profound 
astonishment.  Every  night,  the  streets  are  patrolled. 
There  is  a  sentinel  placed  at  the  entrance  of  all  the 
principal  streets.  It  is  a  time  of  war  and  general  dan- 

[75] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

ger,  but  gaiety,  the  most  extreme,  prevails.  There 
are  balls  and  concerts  every  night,  and  dissipation 
of  every  kind  is  almost  universal.  Such  is  the  char- 
acter of  the  nation,  that  it  is  not  in  the  power  of  mis- 
fortune or  danger  to  render  them  sad.  I  speak  gen- 
erally. There  are  many  individuals  who  feel  the  hor- 
ror of  the  times,  and  yield  to  the  melancholy  so  nat- 
urally inspired  by  the  present  circumstances." 

On  a  blank  page  of  this  letter  my  grandmother 
has  written  in  reference  to  her  correspondence  with 
my  mother:  "After  improving  every  opportunity, 
and  finding  our  letters  were  kept  back,  we  enclosed 
them  to  Madame  Lambert  Marcilius,  an  American 
friend,  by  whom  her  heart  was  made  happy  in  the 
assurance  that  her  parents  could  not  be  made  hap- 
pier by  any  earthly  occurrence,  than  to  fold  in  their 
embrace  their  beloved  Mary." 

Again,  my  mother  writes  to  her  parents: 

"Marie  Galante,  May  4th,  1802. 
"With  a  satisfaction  the  most  ardent  and  sincere, 
I  give  my  dear  Parents  intelligence  of  the  arrival 
of  the  fleet  from  France.  The  night  before  last,  at 
twelve  o'clock,  we  were  awaked  by  an  Officer  who 
came  to  give  us  the  news  so  important,  and  so  long 
desired.  A  frigate  anchored  before  the  town,  and  the 
aide-de-camp  of  General  Lacrosse  landed,  to  give  in- 
formation to  General  Se>iziat,  that  the  fleet,  consist- 
ing of  four  men  of  war,  six  frigates,  and  fourteen 

[76] 


1802]  GUADELOUPE 

transports,  having  on  board  the  troops  from  France 
destined  for  Guadeloupe,  commanded  by  the  Gen- 
eral Richepance,  and  accompanied  by  the  aide-de- 
camp of  Bonaparte,  were  within  twenty-four  hours 
sail.  I  need  not  say,  the  family  arose  instantly,  the  joy 
became  general,  dragoons  were  dispatched  to  give 
intelligence  in  the  country,  sleep  was  banished  from 
all  eyes ;  officers  and  soldiers  passed  continually,  the 
streets  were  rilled,  and, — 'the  fleet  has  arrived,  the 
fleet  has  arrived,'  was  echoed  from  mouth  to  mouth. 
In  the  morning,  the  house  was  filled  with  the  offi- 
cers who  came  to  make  their  adieux,  before  they  em- 
barked to  conquer  or  die.  A  sensation  of  sadness 
mingled  with  our  joy,  but  the  character  of  the  na- 
tion was  never  more  conspicuous  than  at  that  mo- 
ment. The  regiment  of  General  Se'riziat  embarked 
singing,  dancing,  and  exercising  their  wit  in  a  thou- 
sand pleasantries. 

"I  shall  not  close  my  letter  till  the  fate  of  Gua- 
deloupe is  decided ;  we  are,  at  present,  at  a  crisis  the 
most  important.  God  grant  the  event  may  be  happy! 

"May  12th.  After  eight  days  of  the  most  racking 
suspense,  we  have  received  the  agreeable  assurance 
that  all  is  tranquil  at  Grande-Terre.  When  General 
Richepance,  with  the  fleet,  arrived  there,  three  ships 
of  the  line,  which  were  too  large  to  enter  the  port 
of  Point  a  Pitre,  landed  their  troops  near  Fleur 
d'  Epee,  a  celebrated  fort  which  commands  the  en- 
trance of  the  port;  the  other  vessels  entered,  and 
landed  Gen.  Richepance  and  his  army  in  Point  a 

[77] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IMS 

Pitre.  The  black  troops  made  a  faint  resistance,  but 
the  French  soldiers,  with  fixed  bayonets,  forced  them 
to  immediate  surrender.  Had  the  rebels  been  united 
in  opinion,  the  event  would  have  been  extremely 
doubtful ;  but  their  division  saved  us  scenes  the  most 
shocking  to  humanity,  perhaps  nothing  less  than  the 
massacre  of  all  the  white  inhabitants ;  nor  should  we 
in  Marie  Galante  have  escaped  the  general  destruc- 
tion. The  aide-de-camp  of  Pelage,  with  two  hundred 
black  soldiers,  forced  a  retreat  to  Basse-Terre,  where 
he  united  with  three  or  four  thousand  others,  to  take 
possession  of  the  fort  and  the  town.  Five  frigates 
were  immediately  dispatched  to  attack  the  town  by 
sea,  and  two  thousand  French  soldiers,  commanded 
by  General  Se'riziat,  marched  to  attack  it  by  land. 
We  hear  constantly  the  sound  of  the  cannonade. 
Every  one  is  assured  the  blacks  will  be  obliged  to 
surrender.  They  have  neither  a  sufficient  quantity 
of  provisions,  nor  ammunition,  to  make  a  long  re- 
sistance. I  tremble  however  for  the  victims.  Pelage 
has  conducted  extremely  well.  'T  is  to  him  the  white 
inhabitants  owe  their  fives,  as  he  prevented,  by  his 
commands  and  entreaties,  a  general  massacre. 

"Adieu,  my  dear  Parents.  I  have  not  said  the  half 
I  have  to  tell  you,  but  must  close  my  letter,  as  the 
vessel,  by  which  I  send  it,  sails  this  morning." 

The  following  letter  from  my  grandmother,  of  the 
same  date  with  this  last  of  my  mother,  is  doubtless 
the  one  which  was  enclosed  to  Madame  Lambert, 

[78] 


1802]  GUADELOUPE 

the  previous  ones  having  been  intercepted  with  the 
purpose  of  detaining  my  mother  in  Guadeloupe. 

"Concord,  May  7th,  1802. 

"We  will  not,  my  dear,  my  much  loved,  daugh- 
ter, presume  to  arraign  the  decrees  of  the  supreme 
and  all-wise  Ruler  of  events.  They  are  ordered  in 
infinite  wisdom.  His  almighty  fiat  has  passed ;  His 
ways,  though  dark  and  mysterious,  and  far  above 
our  comprehension,  will  most  assuredly  be  made 
manifest  to  be  perfectly  right ;  it  will  not  be  long 
ere  the  partition  will  be  taken  away,  and  we,  I  trust, 
shall  meet  those  friends  so  tenderly  beloved,  never 
again  to  suffer  a  painful  separation. 

"Your  Papa  went  down  on  purpose  to  see  Cap- 
tain Choate,  and  make  inquiry  about  your  situation. 
My  tears  flowed  plentifully  at  the  disappointment, 
when  you  could  have  come  with  so  good  a  man,  so 
reputable  a  character,  and  only  twenty-two  days' 
passage.  Your  friends'  attention  to  you  I  feel  very 
grateful  for.  You  will  present  everything  you  think 
proper  to  them  from  your  parents;  but  you  must 
return,  we  ardently  wish  it.  If  you  cannot  leave  the 
settlement  of  affairs  to  some  trusty  hand,  leave  it; 
you  will  be  provided  for  without  it.  I  cannot  think 
of  being  another  year  parted  from  you.  The  death 
of  my  dear  Henry  was  almost  too  much  for  me.  I 
thought  I  could  say  as  David  did,  'Would  to  God 
I  had  died  for  thee,  my  son!'  My  reason  felt  dis- 
tressed, I  feared  it  would  have  left  me.  Never  was 

[79] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IBM 

anything  more  unexpected  to  us.  From  Mr.  Schalk- 
wyck's  disorder,  we  had  not  an  idea  that  he  could 
recover,  or  even  reach  his  native  shore ;  from  the  cli- 
mate and  the  delicacy  of  your  constitution,  I  had 
every  thing  to  tremble  at  for  you ; — but  my  son,  as 
though  the  shafts  of  death  could  not  arrest  him,  I  had 
almost  a  certainty  of  seeing  again.  But  I  have  made 
a  covenant  with  my  God, — not  one  decree  would 
I  reverse.  I  devoted  you  both  to  Him  in  infancy, 
believing  in  His  mercy,  that  what  He  saw  best  He 
would  do. 

"When  a  report  circulated  that  Mr.  Schalkwyck 
had  paid  the  debt  of  nature,  I  was  confined  with  a 
lung-fever,  and  did  not  know  of  it  for  three  weeks. 
As  soon  as  I  was  better,  your  papa  went  to  Boston, 
to  know  if  any  intelligence  could  be  procured.  Noth- 
ing certain  could  be  procured  till  your  letter  of  the 
22nd  of  December  confirmed  it;  which  we  did  not 
receive  till  the  7th  of  April,  but  have  never  received 
any  one  respecting  your  brother's  sickness,  except 
the  one  you  wrote  to  Mr.  Ripley.  Was  he  sensible 
of  his  danger,  or  was  it  hid  from  him  ? 

"May  9th.  Thus  far  I  had  written,  when  I  was 
called  to  receive  a  letter  from  Mary ;  my  heart  vi- 
brates at  the  sound, — date  22nd  of  March.  You  say 
your  health  is  more  confirmed, — God  be  praised! 
To  Him,  my  dear  daughter,  ascribe  all  thanks.  Let 
not  any  of  the  allurements  which  those  around  you 
are  enveloped  in,  take  you  from  your  duty  to  your 

[80] 


1802]  GUADELOUPE 

God.  Every  resource  fails  in  time  of  affliction,  except 
His  gracious  promises.  What  could  I  have  called  on, 
for  aid,  had  it  not  been  for  that  support ! 

'"What  can  I  ascribe  your  long  silence  to,  my 
dear  parents?'  I  can  answer  you  readily,  not  to  any 
want  of  the  purest  and  most  ardent  affection.  We 
cannot  tell  whether  you  have  received  any  letters 
from  us,  but  have  repeatedly  written.  Our  anxiety 
and  distress  on  your  account  has  been  almost  too 
much  for  all  your  friends,  as,  by  the  papers  filled 
with  the  most  horrid  accounts,  we  have  seen  you, 
in  imagination,  suffering  everything  shocking  to  hu- 
manity. 

"  Indeed,  my  dear  child,  you  must  come  with  Capt. 
Choate, — he  has  orders  not  to  leave  you.  You  will 
not  need  any  other  protector,  relying  on  Providence. 
Do  not  bring  any  slaves  with  you, —  there  are  too 
many  here  already  for  the  safety  of  the  community ; 
the  spirit  of  liberty  has  already  begun  to  blaze  among 
them.  Capt.  Choate  says  if  two-thirds  of  his  cargo 
should  be  necessary  to  insure  your  protection,  he 
would  sacrifice  it.  Your  uncle  says  he  would  venture 
a  daughter  of  his  to  any  part  of  the  world  with  him. 
We  have  reason  to  think  some  of  the  vessels  were 
cast  away  in  which  your  letters  were,  as  you  mention 
many  which  we  never  received.  A  packet  from  your 
papa  has  been  in  Boston  and  Charlestown  to  send, 
a  month.  Vessels  do  not  clear  out  for  Guadeloupe. 
They  are  unwilling  to  have  it  known  where  they  are 
going.  I  am  afraid  to  have  you  go  again  to  that  fatal 

[81] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [iao9 

place.  Cannot  your  affairs  be  settled  where  you  are  ? 
Do  not  wait  till  the  hurricane  months  arrive.  Your 
papa  has  said  he  wished  to  go  for  you  himself,  but 
I  cannot  make  another  sacrifice. 

"  It  is  generally  supposed  that  a  war  will  take  place 
in  the  course  of  a  year,  between  France  and  Amer- 
ica. Our  President  does  not  appear  to  be  a  friend  to 
the  people  or  their  liberties,  has  set  aside  everything 
the  good  Washington  did,  and  expects  to  bring  us 
into  subjection  to  some  other  power. 

"May  the  Father  of  the  faithful,  the  omnipotent 
Jehovah,  bless  you  with  His  kind  support  and  pro- 
tection, may  no  more  clouds  arise,  and  may  you  meet 
again  on  earth  those  friends  who  are  alive  to  every- 
thing which  affects  you. 

"Your  Papa  joins  in  love  and  parental  blessing. 
We  are  much  gratified  that  your  religious  principles 
are  not  contaminated  by  the  prevailing  vices  of  the 
place. 

*'We  have  not  heard  anything  from  Isaac  since 
October  27th, — he  was  then  at  Rio  Janeiro,  but  as 
many  of  our  young  men  have  shared  the  fate  of 
Henry,  we  fear  for  him.  None  can  die  more  lamented 
than  your  darling  brother,  whose  character  was  justly 
published  in  the  Gazette;  Mr.  Schalkwyck's  also. 
We  have  preserved  them  for  you." 

Upon  this  letter,  my  mother  has  written  in  pen- 
cil, "Alas!  dear  and  tenderly  beloved  Parents,  thy 
Mary  sighs  vainly  for  the  happiness  of  embracing 

[82] 


iH08]  GUADELOUPE 

thee.  The  ocean  separates  us,  and  a  cruel  contrariety 
of  circumstances  enchains  me  to  this  unfortunate 
isle." 

The  following  obituaries  are  those  to  which  my 
grandmother  refers: 

From  the  Columbian  Centinel,  January  13th,  1802: 

"Died — at  Guadeloupe,  in  November  last,  Mr. 
Henry  Wilder  of  Concord,  Mass.,  aged  20.  In  the 
character  of  this  amiable  youth  were  concentrated 
all  the  virtues  which  could  dignify  human  nature, 
and  render  man  interesting  and  happy.  In  him  we 
beheld  the  bright  dawnings  of  uncommon  genius, 
illumined  by  those  perfect  principles  of  piety,  which 
ever  add  lustre  to  greatness.  By  his  death,  parental 
tenderness  is  called  to  mourn  the  loss  of  a  beloved 
son,  whom  sweetness  of  disposition,  innocence  of 
life,  and  filial  duty  had  greatly  endeared,  while  he 
was  daily  fulfilling  the  most  sanguine  wishes  of  his 
parents.  As  a  brother,  he  loved,  and  was  beloved; 
for  his  fraternal  affection  taught  him  to  be  both  the 
friend  and  the  protector.  To  see,  was  to  admire; 
to  know,  was  to  esteem  and  love  him.  Yes,  dear 
Wilder !  though  the  sod  of  a  foreign  clime  hath  cov- 
ered thee  from  our  view,  and  thy  pure  spirit  hath  fled 
to  its  native  region,  yet,  in  the  heart  of  each  relative 
and  friend,  shall  be  erected  a  monument  of  tender 
remembrance,  at  which  affection  and  virtue  will  con- 
stantly weep." 

[83] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

'From  the  Columbian  Centinel,  March  31st,  1802: 

"  Died,  on  his  plantation  at  Guadeloupe  M.  An- 
thony Van  Schalkwyck,  aged  28.  During  a  residence 
of  several  years  in  this  country,  he  uniformly  sus- 
tained the  unblemished  character  of  the  man  of 
honour  and  virtue.  His  particular  connections  and 
friends,  who  best  knew  his  worth,  will  pay  a  tribute 
of  sincere  respect  to  his  memory,  and  long  regret  his 
early  exit." 

My  mother's  next  letter  is  dated: 

"Marie  Galante,  June  2nd,  1802. 

"My  last  was  written  with  sensations  very  differ- 
ent from  those  which  have  since  agonized  my  heart. 
Forced  to  become  a  spectatress  of  scenes  the  most 
terrible  imagination  can  form,  I  have  been  on  the 
point  of  bidding  an  eternal  adieu  to  my  beloved 
friends. 

"You  are  already  informed  of  the  arrival  of  the 
troops  from  France,  of  the  ardent  joy  with  which 
they  were  received,  and  of  the  peaceable  surrender 
of  Guadeloupe,  or,  rather,  of  Grande-Terre. 

"Thus  far,  all  had  succeeded  better  than  our  most 
sanguine  expectations ;  when  Grande-Terre  had  sub- 
mitted to  her  legitimate  governor,  we  did  not  think 
it  possible  Guadeloupe  should  dare  to  resist.  Unfor- 
tunately, Gen.  Richepance  did  not  conduct  with  suf- 
ficient policy.  He  commenced  by  arresting  all  the 
black  troops  at  the  Point ;  two  hundred,  commanded 
by  Ignace,  a  mulatto  of  a  violent  and  sanguinary 

[84] 


1802]  GUADELOUPE 

character,  made  their  escape,  and  passed  by  land  to 
Basse-Terre,  the  capital  of  Guadeloupe,  where  they 
united  their  force  with  Delgres,  the  mulatto  who 
commanded  the  fort  of  Basse-Terre,  and  where  they 
were  joined  by  six  or  seven  thousand  men  of  colour. 
These  men,  brave  even  to  desperation,  providentially 
were  ignorant  of  the  art  of  war.  Gen.  Richepance, 
who,  with  two  thousand  soldiers,  passed  by  sea  from 
the  Point  to  Basse-Terre,  landed  with  very  little  op- 
position. It  was  a  critical  moment ;  if  the  rebels  had 
known  how  to  have  seized  it,  the  army  of  Richepance 
would  have  been  forced  to  reembark.  Happily,  few 
men  were  lost  in  landing,  and,  after  a  battle  of  a 
few  hours,  the  French  army  gained  the  heights,  and 
established  their  camp ;  where  the  General  attended 
the  arrival  of  Gen.  Seriziat,  who  was  to  join  him  by 
land  with  two  thousand  men.  Unfortunately,  the  rain 
fell  in  torrents,  and  swelled  the  rivers  in  a  degree 
which  prevented  the  junction  of  the  two  armies. 
Meanwhile,  Gen.  Richepance  attacked  the  fort  sev- 
eral times,  but  was  always  repulsed  with  vigour.  He 
had  frequent  engagements  with  the  black  troops, 
who  ravaged  the  country,  and  committed  daily  the 
most  shocking  atrocities.  Many  women  and  children 
were  assassinated;  and  others,  yet  more  miserable, 
were  made  prisoners,  and  conducted  to  the  fort. 
Judge  of  our  situation,  when,  on  the  third  day  of  the 
attack  of  Basse-Terre,  we  saw  arrive  five  vessels  filled 
with  wounded  soldiers,  and  with  the  unfortunate  fe- 
males of  Guadeloupe.  They  informed  us  the  num- 

[85] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [i*» 

her  of  the  negroes  increased  daily;  scarcely  one  re- 
mained on  the  plantations,  but  men  and  women, 
after  massacring  many  families  in  the  most  shock- 
ing manner,  repaired  to  the  fort.  For  five  or  six  days, 
every  person  in  the  family  was  employed  in  making 
lint  for  the  wounded,  who  were  between  four  and 
five  hundred  in  number.  This  was  our  employment 
in  the  day,  and,  in  the  evening,  we  repaired  to  the 
shore,  where  we  had  the  anguish  of  seeing,  on  the 
fifth  evening,  many  habitations  in  flames.  For  sev- 
eral days,  we  had  heard  distinctly  a  continual  and 
terrible  cannonading ;  it  was  the  French  who  bom- 
barded the  fort,  (the  armies  of  Richepance  and  Seri- 
ziat  had  formed  a  junction,)  and  who  finally  took  it 
by  assault.  The  number  of  rebels  killed  in  the  attack 
was  very  great,  but  a  yet  greater  number  escaped, 
and  fled  to  the  country,  where  they  committed  every 
imaginable  horror,  burning  the  habitations,  and  mur- 
dering those  who  were  so  unfortunate  as  to  fall  in 
their  power,  in  the  most  cruel  manner. 

"We  were  apprehensive  they  would  pass  into 
Grande-Terre.  Every  one  assured  us  it  was  impos- 
sible, but,  in  a  short  time,  our  fears  were  realized. 
Notwithstanding  every  precaution,  they  crossed  the 
river,  burnt  many  habitations,  seized  a  fort  near  Point 
a  Pitre,  and  spread  horror  and  dismay  among  the 
miserable  inhabitants.  The  town  had  been  left  with 
very  few  troops ;  several  companies  composed  of  the 
young  inhabitants  marched  to  attack  the  fort.  The 
women  and  children  threw  themselves  aboard  the 

[86] 


1802]  GUADELOUPE 

vessels  in  the  harbour,  and  many  came  to  join  us  in 
this  little  island,  where  we  heard  distinctly  the  sound 
of  the  cannon,  and  where  we  were  scarcely  more  in 
safety  than  in  Guadeloupe. 

"  It  is  three  days  since  we  have  received  intelli- 
gence of  the  important  battle  of  Bainbridge,  which 
commenced  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and,  at 
eight  in  the  evening,  was  concluded  by  taking  the 
fort.  Between  four  and  five  hundred  of  the  black 
troops  were  destroyed,  and  little  more  than  thirty 
of  the  brave  young  Creoles  fell,  universally  deplored. 
The  chief,  Ignace,  received  the  mortal  wound  from 
the  hand  of  Mr.  Blanchet,  the  brother  of  our  friend 
Dureste.  The  other  chief,  Delgres,  who  had  remained 
in  Guadeloupe,  perceiving  himself  lost,  entered  a 
house  in  which  he  had  placed  a  sufficient  quantity 
of  powder,  and,  together  with  one  hundred  of  his 
followers,  collecting  his  unfortunate  prisoners,  put 
fire  to  the  powder,  and  all  perished.1 

1  According  to  Lacour's  "  Histoire  de  Guadeloupe,"  Delgres  did  not 
sacrifice  the  lives  of  his  prisoners,  but  those  of  some  French  soldiers  who 
had  just  succeeded  in  entering  the  house  in  question.  Three  hundred  of 
Delgres'  followers  perished  with  him. 

The  negroes  had  taken  eighty  white  women  and  children  from  their 
homes  and  imprisoned  them  at  the  fortified  post  of  Dole".  They  discussed, 
in  the  presence  of  their  prisoners  as  the  French  troops  approached, 
whether  they  should  cut  their  throats  or  blow  them  up.  They  decided  on 
the  latter  course,  and  put  a  quantity  of  powder  under  the  building.  From 
the  windows  of  their  prison,  the  unhappy  women,  in  their  desperate  dan- 
ger, made  signals  of  distress  to  the  French  troops,  which  incited  them  to 
impetuous  action.  They  charged  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet,  dispersed 
the  blacks,  and  saved  the  women  —  killing  a  negro  at  the  moment  when 
he  was  about  to  set  fire  to  the  powder.  —  ED. 

[87] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [i«» 

"  In  Grande-Terre  all  is  at  present  tranquil,  but  we 
have  every  evening  the  horror  of  seeing  the  flames 
in  Guadeloupe.  Pelage,  under  a  merciful  Providence, 
has  preserved  Grande-Terre ;  which,  if  you  regard  its 
situation,  separated  only  by  a  little  river  from  Gua- 
deloupe, will  appear  to  you  a  miracle.  A  police,  the 
most  vigilant  and  the  most  severe,  is  observed ;  every 
inhabitant,  old  and  young,  is  in  the  service.  The  town 
of  Point  a  Pitre  has  been  illuminated  several  nights, 
that  all  which  passes  may  be  distinctly  seen. 

"  In  all  these  occurrences,  I  know  my  dear  Par- 
ents and  friends  have  trembled  for  their  Mary.  But, 
thank  God!  my  fortitude  has  increased  in  propor- 
tion to  my  afflictions.  In  the  contemplation  of  gen- 
eral calamity,  every  private  sorrow  has  been  forgot- 
ten, and  I  adore  the  mercy  of  Heaven,  in  taking  my 
beloved  husband  and  brother  from  a  world  of  suf- 
fering and  misfortune  to  its  peaceful  bosom. 

"  I  request  you  to  remember  me  respectfully  and 
affectionately  to  my  friends.  One  of  my  greatest 
sources  of  anxiety  at  present  is  the  long  silence  you 
have  observed.  For  six  months  I  have  not  received 
one  line  to  tell  me  you  remember  you  have  a  daugh- 
ter, who  has  never  ceased  to  love  you,  and  who,  in 
all  the  dangers  to  which  she  has  been  exposed,  has 
ever  rejoiced  you  were  exempt  from  them." 

Upon  the  margin  of  the  last  page  of  this  letter  my 
grandmother  has  written:  "My  dear,  beloved  Mary 
little  knew  the  laceration  of  my  heart  when  she  wrote 

[88] 


1802]  GUADELOUPE 

this,  and  deeply  wounded  was  that  heart  when  we 
received  this.  Our  letters  had  been  intercepted,  we 
had  reason  to  suppose,  by  the  family,  as  they  did  not 
wish  her  to  return.  Every  artifice  was  used  to  detain 
her  in  a  second  marriage  with  a  French  General. 
Scarce  a  vessel  sailed,  but  carried  letters  from  her 
numerous  friends." 

The  following  extracts  from  a  letter  dated  "  Marie 
Galante,  June  6th,"  but  without  an  address,  give  a 
few  more  details: 

"  My  former  letters  have  informed  you  of  the  sad 
destiny  which  has  unceasingly  persecuted  me,  since 
my  arrival  in  this  unfortunate  country.  Young,  a 
stranger  to  the  world,  unacquainted  with  misfor- 
tune, I  found  myself  alone,  a  wanderer  in  a  foreign 
country,  whose  language  I  knew  not,  with  whose 
manners  I  was  unacquainted,  my  heart  torn  to  agony 
by  the  loss  of  friends  dearer  than  life,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment when  every  one  retired  to  their  chambers  at 
night,  with  the  expectation  of  being  assassinated  ere 
the  morning. 

"  I  left  Guadeloupe  with  the  family  of  Mr.  Schalk- 
wyck,  and  sought  an  asylum  in  this  island.  But  judge 
if  we  were  in  perfect  security,  when  I  tell  you  that 
we  see  distinctly  the  houses  in  many  parts  of  Gua- 
deloupe from  our  windows  in  Marie  Galante,  so  near 
are  the  islands.  The  Gazettes  have  undoubtedly  in- 
formed you  of  the  arrival  of  the  troops  from  France. 
The  troops  of  colour  opposed  their  entrance,  and  a 

[89] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [i«» 

war  the  most  terrible  commenced,  in  which  mothers 
and  their  children  were  sacrificed  to  the  ferocious 
vengeance  of  the  blacks.  Every  imaginable  horror 
was  committed.  For  six  days  and  nights,  the  thunder 
of  cannon  assailed  our  alarmed  senses ;  and,  when 
finally  the  black  troops  were  obliged  to  evacuate  the 
fort  St.  Charles,  they  fled  to  the  country,  destroying 
every  white  person  who  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  fall 
in  their  power,  and  desolating  the  country  by  fire  and 
the  sword. 

"Ah !  my  dear  friend !  God  grant  you  may  ever  re- 
main ignorant  of  the  horrible  spectacle  a  country  in 
flames  presents.  For  fourteen  nights  we  have  con- 
templated it ;  for  fourteen  nights,  we  have  seen  the 
red  flames  mount  to  heaven,  and  the  richest  country 
in  the  world  reduced  to  ashes." 

To  her  mother  she  writes  as  follows: 

"June  7th.  I  had  forgotten  to  observe,  in  the  en- 
closed, not  one  of  the  habitations  of  the  Schalkwyck 
family  has  been  destroyed.  Two  negroes  have  been 
arrested  in  the  act  of  putting  fire  to  the  habitation 
at  St.  Ann,  which  providentially  was  preserved.  If  I 
have  time,  I  shall  write  to  my  sisters,  and  Sarah  Rip- 
ley  ;  if  not,  they  will  render  me  the  justice  to  believe 
circumstances,  and  not  a  deficiency  of  attachment, 
prevent  me.  Indeed,  I  give  my  Parents  the  strongest 
proof  of  my  affection  possible,  by  writing  thus  much, 
at  a  moment  like  the  present,  when  my  mind  is  agi- 
tated, my  heart  sad,  and  my  nerves  trembling." 

[90] 


1802]  GUADELOUPE 

Once  more,  my  mother  writes: 

"St.  Francois,  Guadeloupe^ 
August  6th,  1802. 

"  By  the  date  of  my  letter,  my  dear  Parents  will 
see  I  have  returned  to  the  unfortunate  island,  which 
has  so  long  been  the  theatre  of  horrors.  Thanks  to  a 
miraculous  Providence,  a  large  proportion  of  Grande- 
Terre  has  been  preserved  from  the  flames  which  have 
desolated  Guadeloupe,  and  rendered  that  rich  and 
beautiful  part  of  the  island  a  mass  of  ruins. 

"  On  our  return  to  Guadeloupe,  we  passed  a  fort- 
night in  the  town  of  St.  Fra^ois,  as  we  were  fear- 
ful to  retire  to  the  plantation,  though  an  apparent 
tranquillity  was  universally  observed.  The  town  is 
situated  on  the  sea-shore;  it  had,  previous  to  the 
Revolution,  many  fine  buildings,  but  they  have 
chiefly  fallen  to  decay.  There,  with  sensations  of 
mingled  reverence,  regret,  and  horror,  I  visited  the 
ruins  of  what  was  formerly  a  magnificent  Church. 
The  roof,  doors,  and  windows  are  destroyed;  the 
pavement  torn  up,  the  altar  and  paintings  burnt ;  and 
the  high  walls  only,  which  are  of  white  stone  firmly 
cemented,  remain,  an  almost  only  proof  religion  had 
even  here  ONCE  its  votaries. 

"After  passing  a  fortnight  in  the  town,  the  tran- 
quillity which  existed  in  the  country  induced  Ma- 
dame Courcelle  to  return  to  the  plantation ;  the  eve- 
ning of  our  arrival,  Mile.  Coutoute  and  myself  were 
attacked  with  the  fever.  For  six  days  and  nights,  I 

[91] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

remained  in  an  almost  constant  delirium,  and,  for 
nearly  three  weeks,  I  was  obliged  to  keep  my  bed. 
When,  finally,  the  fever  left  me,  I  found  myself  in 
a  state  of  debility,  which  exceeded  anything  I  had 
before  felt ;  it  extended  to  all  my  senses.  I  could  not 
bear  the  light,  the  softest  voice  gave  me  pain,  by  the 
slightest  odour  I  was  almost  suffocated,  my  limbs 
were  almost  insensible,  and  I  distinguished  no  differ- 
ence in  the  various  kinds  of  sustenance  which  were 
presented  me.  It  has  pleased  my  Almighty  Father 
again  to  restore  me  the  inestimable  blessing  of  health. 
For  what  purpose  I  am  preserved,  He,  to  whom  fu- 
turity is  ever  present,  only  knows.  This  is  the  third 
combat  between  life  and  death.  A  circumstance 
which,  I  am  sensible,  increased  my  illness,  was  the 
agitation  of  my  spirits  the  first  day  of  my  fever.  My 
passage  was  already  engaged,  my  affairs  nearly  ter- 
minated, to  my  very  great  satisfaction ;  and,  on  the 
point  of  returning  to  my  beloved  Parents,  I  found 
myself  extended  on  the  bed  of  sickness.  The  disap- 
pointment, by  agitating  my  mind,  probably  increased 
my  delirium,  and  prolonged  my  illness.  The  vessel  in 
which  I  expected  to  return,  sailed  a  fortnight  since ; 
but  my  passage,  together  with  that  of  a  female  ser- 
vant, is  already  engaged  in  another  vessel,  and, 
should  no  circumstance  occur  to  prevent,  I  expect 
to  sail  the  commencement  of  September,  in  the  brig 
Eda,  commanded  by  Captain  Holland,  and  bound  to 
Newbury  Port  or  Salem.  The  Captain  is  an  elderly 
man,  of  a  very  respectable  character,  and  who  is  well 

[92] 


1802]  GUADELOUPE 

known  and  beloved  in  Newbury  Port,  where  his 
family  resides ;  an  ancient  and  experienced  naviga- 
tor, which,  I  know,  will  be  a  circumstance  that  will 
add  to  the  satisfaction  of  my  Parents. 

"I  have  not  received  one  line  from  New  England 
since  I  lost  my  beloved  husband.  Alas !  too  often  has 
my  bleeding  heart  felt  the  need  of  a  consolatory  let- 
ter from  my  friends.  I  have  ever  endeavoured  to  sup- 
port my  misfortunes  with  fortitude  and  resignation, 
but  often  the  remembrance  of  the  dear,  the  too  ten- 
derly beloved,  friends  I  have  lost,  brings  to  my  heart 
a  poignancy  of  grief,  which  bears  down  every  barrier, 
and  makes  me  regret  I  had  not  shared  their  fate.  My 
friends  are  attentive  and  affectionate ;  they  force  me 
into  [word  missing]  and  gay  societies,  they  tell  me 
to  shun  reflection  and  to fly  from  thought.  I  have  been 
formed  on  different  principles;  but  I  must  render 
justice  to  my  amiable  friends  by  acknowledging  their 
care  to  provide  me  with  every  thing  which  could 
draw  my  mind  from  a  recollection  of  past  events,  has 
perhaps  been  the  means  of  preserving  my  life.  It  will 
cost  me  the  deepest  regret  to  bid  adieu  to  my  friends 
in  this  isle,  but  it  is  necessary  to  sacrifice  the  smaller 
to  the  greater  good ;  and  I  think  there  is  no  earthly 
happiness  reserved  for  me  so  great  as  the  pleasure 
of  embracing  my  dear  Parents." 

Upon  this  last  page,  and  beside  the  lines  in  which 
my  mother  deplores  her  need  of  consoling  letters 
from  home,  my  grandmother  has  written  the  follow- 

[93] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IMS 

ing:  "Letters,  my  beloved  daughter,  from  your  par- 
ents and  sisters  were  put  on  board  a  vessel  for  Point 
a  Pitre  a  month  since.  They  were  intercepted." 

My  mother  sailed  for  home  about  the  middle  of 
September. 

Among  the  earliest  recollections  of  my  childhood 
is  the  packet  of  my  mother's  letters  from  the  West 
Indies,  which  I  have  copied.  Even  at  that  distant 
period,  they  were  worn  from  much  reading.  Un- 
doubtedly, we  have  all  that  were  received.  It  is  evi- 
dent that  some  were  written  which  never  reached 
their  destination. 

Mrs.  Rapallo,  in  writing  to  me  of  this  period  in 
my  mother's  life,  gives  some  incidents  not  recorded 
in  her  letters.  She  says:  "While  she  was  lying  ill  in 
bed  with  the  fever,  her  husband's  brother  came  into 
the  room,  and,  hastily  wrapping  a  sheet  around  her, 
carried  her  into  the  street,  almost  without  time  to 
speak.  A  shock  of  an  earthquake  was  coming,  and 
they  went  into  the  street  to  avoid  being  buried  in 
the  ruins  of  the  house,  if  it  should  fall.  I  have  no 
record  of  time, — only  facts  as  related  to  me  present 
themselves  to  my  memory.  While  she  was  still  in 
the  West  Indies,  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  re- 
turn to  America,  sitting  with  the  ladies  in  the  par- 
lour, they  heard  a  tumult  in  the  street.  Then  the 
brother-in-law  came  in,  took  his  sword,  and  went  out. 
It  was  the  rising  of  the  negroes,  soon  after  that  of 
St.  Domingo.  The  ladies  were  put  into  boats,  and 
rowed  to  a  place  of  safety.  Your  mother  was  anxious 

[94] 


1802]  GUADELOUPE 

to  get  to  America,  but  there  was  no  vessel  on  that 
side  of  the  island.  They  heard  of  one  going  from  the 
other  side.  Over  a  rough  hilly  country,  she  was  car- 
ried in  a  sedan-chair,  while  her  brother-in-law  rode 
on  horseback  at  her  side,  sword  in  hand,  as  they 
passed  the  camp-fires  of  the  negroes." 

fin  the  memoirs  of"  Madame  Desbordes-Valmore, 

*- 

by  Sainte-Beuve,  translated  by  Miss  Preston,"  a  pas- 
sage occurs  of  interest  in  this  connection,  as  showing 
from  another  source  the  condition  of  Guadeloupe  not 
long  before  this  time : "  Somewhere  about  1799,  little 
Marcelline  (then  fourteen  years  old)  accompanied  her 
mother  to  Guadeloupe,  where  they  counted  on  find- 
ing a  relative  who  had  there  amassed  a  fortune.  They 
arrived,  however,  to  find  the  country  in  a  blaze  of 
revolt, — the  yellow  fever  raging,  and  their  relative 
dead.  And  there  the  mother  of  Mile.  Desbordes  died 
herself  of  the  epidemic." 

The  following  paragraph  from  a  recent  newspaper 
shows  the  severity  of  the  fever  early  in  the  century: 
"A  Hall  of  Honor  has  been  established  in  Val  de 
Grace  Hospital  in  Paris,  where  the  names  of  French 
medical  men  who  have  died  in  the  performance  of 
their  duty,  are  inscribed  in  marble.  A  list  of  143  doc- 
tors and  45  apothecaries  has  just  been  placed  on  its 
walls,  all  of  whom  perished  in  the  yellow  fever  epi- 
demic in  San  Domingo  and  Guadeloupe  in  1801- 
1803." 

From  a  private  letter  from  Guadeloupe  to  the 
[95] 


Gazette  of  February  1st,  1802,  dated  December  4th, 
1801:  "The  fever  has  been  very  mortal  among  the 
Americans,  some  vessels  have  lost  half  their  crews, 
and  others  nearly  all." 

Both  General  Sdriziat  and  General  Richepance 
died  of  the  fever,  in  Guadeloupe,  in  1802,  before 
October. 

The  following  passage  from  the  "Reminiscences 
of  Fifty  Years,"  by  Mark  Boyd,  also  shows  what  a 
scourge  the  yellow  fever  was  in  those  days:  "When 
I  first  came  to  London,  I  met  at  the  house  of  a  friend, 
at  dinner,  a  countryman  of  my  own  who  had  spent 
thirty  years  or  more  in  the  West  Indies.  Our  host 
described  him  as  one  of  the  forty -twa.  It  appeared 
that  about  the  beginning  of  the  century  forty-two 
young  Scotchmen  embarked  at  Greenock  for  the 
West  Indies.  The  ship  discharged  her  cargo  and 
loaded  with  sugar,  which  detained  her  about  six 
weeks,  and  returned  to  Greenock,  bringing  back  the 
trunks,  or  kists,  of  twenty-seven  of  the  young  men, 
who  had,  within  that  short  time,  fallen  victims  to  yel- 
low fever.  Mentioning  this  circumstance  to  the  late 
General  Frederick  Maitland,  of  Berkeley  Square, 
who  had  served  many  years  in  the  West  Indies,  he 
told  me  that  one  Saturday  he  and  seven  brother 
officers  sat  down  to  mess,  and  the  following  Satur- 
day he  was  the  only  survivor  of  the  party."] 

[96] 


CHAPTER  V 

OCTOBER-DECEMBER,  1802 
CONCORD :  MISS  BROMFIELD  AND  MR.  FRISBIE 

MY  mother  returned  to  her  mother's  home  in 
Concord,  where  she  lived  till  1807. J  Of  her 
arrival  in  this  country,  I  have  more  than  one  record 
from  my  grandmother's  pen.  In  her  letter  to  my 
father  in  1817,  containing  the  leading  events  of  my 
mother's  life,  she  says:  "She  arrived  in  Newbury 
Port  on  her  birth-day,  [October  8, 1802],  a  widow  of 
twenty-two,  having  lost  those  most  dear  to  her.  At 
that  time  she  determined  to  pass  the  remainder  of 
her  days  with  the  Moravians,  in  Bethlehem,  Penn- 
sylvania." 

We  can  imagine  the  interest  awakened  in  the  lit- 
tle town  of  Concord  by  the  return  of  one  so  much 
admired  and  beloved.  The  following  note,  which  I 
have  in  my  mother's  handwriting,  was  doubtless  read 
in  the  village  church,  by  Mr.  Ripley,  the  first  Sunday 
after  her  return:  "Mary  Van  Schalkwyck  requests 

'The  picture  of  Dr.  Kurd's  house  given  here  is  from  a  water-colour 
sketch  by  Henry  Wilder,  made  in  1801.  It  was  originally  one  of  the  three 
garrison-houses,  or  block-houses  of  the  village,  fortified  for  a  place  of  de- 
fence for  the  villagers  from  the  Indians,  and  one  of  its  rooms  still  shows 
its  history. 

Dr.  Hurd  was  a  large  owner  of  real  estate,  owning  a  place  in  Billerica, 
one  on  the  borders  of  Carlisle,  wood-lots,  lands,  and  houses  in  the  east 
part  of  the  town,  and  all  the  land  on  the  north  side  of  Main  Street,  from 
the  mill  brook  to  the  house  of  Mr.  Samuel  Hoar,  including  two  taverns. 
-ED. 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

thanks  may  be  rendered  to  Almighty  God  for  His 
infinite  goodness  in  restoring  her  from  sickness,  in 
protecting  her  in  danger,  and  in  returning  her  to  her 
native  country.  She  requests  your  prayers  that  all 
the  afflictive  dispensations  of  Providence  may  be 
sanctified  to  her,  for  her  spiritual  good. 

"Her  parents  join  with  her  in  these  requests,  and 
in  desiring  prayers  for  their  absent  son,  that  he  may 
be  protected,  and  returned  in  safety." 

The  earliest  date  we  have  from  my  mother,  after 
her  return  from  the  West  Indies,  is  that  of  a  letter 
addressed  to  Miss  Ann  Bromfield,  of  Newburyport. 
As  she  does  not  appear  to  have  been  one  of  my 
mother's  correspondents  before  her  marriage,  we 
may  suppose  that  their  acquaintance  began  while 
my  mother  was  in  Newburyport,  previous  to  her 
departure  for  Guadeloupe.  In  later  years,  when  that 
town  became  her  home,  my  mother  had  no  more  de- 
voted friends  than  Miss  Bromfield  and  her  venerated 
mother,  and  by  none  were  the  children  she  left  more 
tenderly  cherished  for  her  sake. 

Among  the  most  refining  influences  which  came 
to  us  in  our  childhood  were  those  which  we  received 
from  "Aunt  Bromfield,"  and  "Cousin  Ann,"  in  their 
charming  home,  where  we  passed  many  happy  days 
during  the  first  five  years  after  my  mother's  death, 
when  we  lived  in  Newburyport.  These  friends  were 
of  the  same  family  with  the  revered  Henry  Brom- 
field of  Harvard,  the  owner  of  the  house  already 
mentioned,  which  was  occupied  by  my  great-grand- 

[98] 


1802]  CONCORD 

father  Flagg  at  the  time  of  his  death,  when  Mr. 
Bromfield  was  in  England.  They  were  ladies  of  the 
old  school,  of  remarkable  dignity  and  refinement.  I 
remember  Aunt  Bromfield  as  of  medium  height,  yet 
of  a  presence  which  commanded  respect  while  it  won 
affection.  She  was  venerable  in  appearance  rather 
from  her  style  of  dress,  which  was  like  that  I  have 
described  as  my  grandmother's,  than  from  any  loss 
of  personal  charm.  Her  portrait  by  Stuart,  an  accu- 
rate likeness,  might  have  been  a  fancy  sketch  of  an 
ideal  old  lady,  it  is  so  beautiful.  That  picture,  and 
others  which  adorned  her  parlour,  made  it  attractive 
to  a  child.  Miss  Ann  Bromfield,  who,  late  in  life,  be- 
came Mrs.  Thomas  Tracy,  did  not  inherit  her  mother's 
beauty  of  person.  She  was,  however,  distinguished 
for  mental  ability  and  self-culture,  no  less  than  for 
her  high  character.  She  was  tall  and  thin,  of  a  sin- 
gularly erect  figure,  a  strongly  marked  countenance, 
and  a  somewhat  precise  and  formal  manner.  She  was 
most  emphatic  in  discourse,  and  equally  so  in  wri- 
ting. Her  letters  abound  in  expressions  emphasized 
by  a  stroke  of  the  pen,  and  often  by  more  than 
one  stroke.  She  did  not  gratify  our  taste  in  child- 
hood as  her  mother  did,  but  as  we  grew  older  we 
learned  to  value  her  as  she  deserved,  especially  for 
the  enthusiasm  with  which,  to  the  end  of  her  long 
life,  she  cherished  our  mother's  memory.  Much  as  she 
talked  of  her  to  her  children,  she  could  never  men- 
tion my  mother's  name  without  shedding  tears,  as 
for  a  fresh  grief. 

[99] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [i«» 

John  Bromfield,  the  husband  and  father  of  this 
family,  did  not  inherit  the  virtues  of  his  ancestry. 
The  distress  of  the  mother  and  daughter  on  his  ac- 
count, and,  for  similar  reasons,  on  account  of  one  of 
his  sons,  and  their  grief  under  the  loss  of  another 
greatly  beloved,  explain  some  of  my  mother's  ex- 
pressions in  writing  to  Miss  Bromfield.  Mrs.  Brom- 
field's  youngest  son,  John,  was  a  blessing  to  his  fam- 
ily, and  to  the  community.  He  was  distinguished  for 
his  private  character  and  public  benefactions. 

Two  weeks  after  her  return  to  Concord  my  mother 
wrote  to  Miss  Bromfield,  who  was  then  in  Billerica, 
a  letter  from  which  the  following  passage  is  taken: 

"Concord,  October  24th,  1802. 

"We  are,  indeed,  connected  by  many  ties:  sisters 
in  affliction,  and  daughters  of  the  same  great  Parent 
who  conducts  all  events  in  infinite  wisdom  and  good- 
ness; and  who  will,  I  trust,  perfect  in  Heaven  the 
friendship  He  has  seen  commence  on  earth. 

"  Yes,  my  dear  friend,  we  have  both  been  separated 
from  objects  the  dearest,  best  beloved.  But  the  sep- 
aration is  only  temporary.  For,  if  the  Soul  retains  her 
faculties,  and  surely  she  will  rather  gain  than  lose, 
she  must  recognize,  in  a  state  of  perfection,  those  be- 
ings whose  virtues  had  secured  her  esteem,  and  at- 
tracted, by  congeniality  of  spirit,  her  love  on  earth. 
And  how  sweetly  does  the  idea  of  this  reunion  rob 
Death  of  his  terrors ! 

[100] 


1802]  CONCORD 

"'Our  dying  friends  are  pioneers,  to  smooth 
Our  rugged  pass  to  death  ;  to  break  those  bars 
Of  terror,  and  abhorrence,  nature  throws 
'Cross  our  obstructed  way;  and,  thus,  to  make 
Welcome,  as  safe,  our  port  from  every  storm.'" 

The  words  which  follow  were  probably  written  to 
Grace  Hurd.  She  was  a  niece  of  my  mother's  step- 
father, and  her  home  in  Charlestown  was  one  of  those 
at  which  my  mother  often  visited. 

"If  we  consider  this  life  as  a  state  of  probation, 
should  we  not  rejoice  when  the  trial  is  past,  and  we 
are  received  to  the  mansions  of  our  Heavenly  Father  ? 
Let  'the  dust  return  to  the  dust  from  whence  it 
came,'  if  'the  spirit  returns  to  God  who  gave  it.'  Of 
what  consequence  are  his  chains  to  the  freed  pris- 
oner? You  know  your  friend  to  be  familiar  with  the 
'King  of  Terrors.'  He  has  approached  me  in  various 
forms.  At  one  time,  in  a  slow  and  gradual  manner, 
he  tore  from  me  one  long  and  justly  loved.  At 
another,  he  snatched  suddenly,  in  the  full  bloom  of 
youth  and  health,  a  brother  whom  I  regard  as  sac- 
rificed for  me,  and  for  whom  I  would  gladly  have 
died.  Often  has  he  approached  me, — often  have  I  re- 
garded his  face,  and  have  not  found  it  frowning.  Me- 
thought  it  was  placid,  and  he  said :  '  I  bring  an  an- 
tidote to  the  sorrows  of  life.'" 

That  this  cheerful  view  of  death  had  its  source  in 
Christian  faith,  and  not  in  natural  temperament,  is 
evident  from  the  following  paragraph  from  another 

[101] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

letter:  "I  recollect  my  feelings  when  I  first  realized 
the  absolute  necessity  of  dying, — the  horror  I  expe- 
rienced at  the  idea  of  my  person's  becoming  a  life- 
less mass  committed  to  the  earth,  and  my  discon- 
nected spirit  going  I  knew  not  where,  existing  I 
knew  not  how.  Till  the  truths  of  Christianity  be- 
came, in  a  degree,  familiar  to  my  mind,  the  subject 
so  terrified  me,  I  feared  to  dwell  on  it." 

That  my  mother's  grief  under  the  loss  of  her 
brother  was  aggravated  by  the  thought  that  he  was 
"sacrificed"  for  her  appears  not  only  in  the  letters 
to  her  cousin  Grace,  but  also  in  the  following  extract 
from  a  letter  without  date  or  address: 

"I  passed  last  Thursday  night  at  the  Parsonage. 
Sarah  and  I  remained  in  the  west  parlour  two  hours 
after  the  family  had  retired  for  repose.  The  night  was 
remarkably  fine,  the  air  clear,  and  the  heavens  se- 
rene. The  river  had  overflowed  its  banks,  and  pre- 
sented a  little  sea  to  our  view ;  its  clear  surface  re- 
flected every  surrounding  object  softened  by  moon- 
light. You  recollect  the  peculiar  beauty  of  that  pros- 
pect, especially  when  the  river  is  swollen  by  rains. 
After  contemplating  it  some  time  with  still  rapture, 
mine  eye  settled  on  the  balm-of-Gilead  opposite  the 
window — perhaps  you  do  not  remember  that  tree; 
't  is  not  remarkable  for  its  beauty  or  majesty, — nev- 
ertheless it  is,  to  me,  one  of  the  most  interesting  of 
inanimate  objects,  for  under  it  I  passed  an  hour  the 
last  evening  I  spent  in  Concord  with  my  brother. 

[102] 


1802]  CONCORD 

Henry,  Sarah,  and  myself,  after  strolling  on  the 
banks  of  the  river,  returned,  and  standing  beneath 
the  branches  of  the  tree,  Henry  carved  our  names  on 
its  trunk.  'Before  they  are  obliterated,'  said  he,  'we 
shall  meet  and  renew  them.'  May  you,  my  friend, 
never  have  the  agony  of  believing  a  being,  dear  be- 
yond expression,  was  sacrificed  for  you !  I  have  felt 
that  agony  in  all  its  bitterness.  Had  that  dear  youth 
expired  in  the  arms  of  his  mother,  did  the  turf  which 
presses  his  father  cover  him,  I  might  have  wept  a 
separation  from  one  who  had  been  the  object  of  pride 
and  affection  so  many  years,  but  the  arrow  of  afflic- 
tion would  not  have  been  barbed  by  self-reproach.  I 
should  not  have  said,  'For  me  Henry  left  his  coun- 
try, for  me  he  died,  far  from  his  friends.'  When  I 
recollect  the  despair  that  seized  me  when  I  learned 
he  had  ceased  to  breathe,  I  regard  myself  with  as- 
tonishment, and  can  impute  to  nothing  short  of  im- 
mediate assistance  from  Heaven  my  continued  life 
and  reason.  I  was  proud  of  him,  ambitious  for  him, 
jealous  that  others  paid  him  not  the  esteem  and  ad- 
miration which  I  thought  his  due,  suspicious  envy 
would  attempt  his  injury.  How  far  was  I  from  idol- 
atry?" 

Again  Henry  is  touchingly  alluded  to,  on  a  later 
page,  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Frisbie,  who  was  an  intimate 
friend  of  both  my  father  and  my  mother,  years  before 
they  were  personally  known  to  each  other.  His  very 
name  awakens  such  dear  associations  in  my  mind 

[103] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [iao» 

that  I  am  moved  to  a  special  memorial  of  him  here. 
Before  my  earliest  recollection  of  him  he  had  be- 
come distinguished  as  Professor  of  Natural  Theol- 
ogy and  Moral  Philosophy  in  Harvard  College,  and 
was  a  man  whom  the  most  gifted  and  the  most 
learned  regarded  with  admiration  for  his  genius,  his 
character,  and  his  attainments.  All  this  I  was  too 
young  to  appreciate.  I  only  felt,  when  I  was  with 
him,  that  he  must  have  loved  my  mother  very  much 
to  account  for  his  extreme  demonstrativeness  to- 
wards her  children. 

In  writing  to  my  father  after  my  mother's  death, 
he  said,  "  I  do,  indeed,  partake  of  your  loss.  She  was 
to  me  the  best  and  most  disinterested  friend  I  ever 
had,  and  it  was  always  cause  of  peculiar  satisfaction 
to  me  that  she  was  united  to  a  man  too  noble  to  look 
on  this  friendship  with  a  jealous  eye."  My  father's 
acquaintance  with  Mr.  Frisbie  began  soon  after  the 
latter  was  admitted  to  Harvard  University.  He  was 
of  the  class  of  1802,  to  which  my  father  held  the  re- 
lation of  tutor.  Of  Mr.  Frisbie's  character  at  that 
early  period,  my  father  wrote  after  his  death,  to  their 
mutual  friend  Professor  Norton,  as  follows : 

"  The  relation  which  I  sustained  to  his  class  led  me 
to  take  the  more  interest  in  his  literary  progress,  and 
laid  the  foundation  of  a  friendship  which  I  have  ever 
regarded  as  among  the  blessings  of  my  life.  His  relig- 
ious and  moral  principles,  as  well  as  habits,  appeared 
to  have  been  fixed  before  he  left  his  paternal  abode. 

[104] 


1802]  CONCORD 

He  was  blessed  with  a  father  who  was,  in  all  respects, 
qualified  to  form  his  youthful  mind  to  wisdom  and 
virtue.  I  believe  he  had  all  that  sensibility  of  con- 
science, and  purity  of  manners  which  distinguished 
his  son,  who  always  seemed  conscious  of  a  tribunal 
within  which  led  him  scrupulously  to  avoid  not  only 
what  appeared  to  be  wrong,  but  every  thing  which 
he  did  not  feel  assured  was  right.  This  elevated  love 
of  virtue,  and  sacred  regard  to  duty,  which  rendered 
Mr.  Frisbie  an  object  of  universal  respect  among  his 
companions  at  college,  was  associated  with  such  can- 
dour and  frankness  of  disposition,  and  generosity  of 
conduct,  that  he  gained  their  affection  and  confi- 
dence ;  and,  however  they  might  feel  reproved  by  his 
example,  they  were  never  disposed  to  withhold  the 
honour  that  was  due  to  him.  Nor  was  his  influence,  at 
this  early  period,  lost  on  the  university.  Alone,  he 
might  not  have  produced  any  visible  effect,  but,  to- 
gether with  other  kindred  spirits,  he  did  much  to 
raise  the  standard  of  character  among  the  students. 
It  is  well  remembered,  by  those  who  were  then  in  the 
college  government,  that  the  class  in  which  he  be- 
longed, and  where  he  held  preeminent  rank,  acquired 
a  reputation,  at  that  time  unexampled,  for  their  ar- 
dour in  the  pursuit  both  of  moral  and  literary  excel- 
lence, and  for  uniting  with  a  manly  independence  of 
character  an  honourable  respect  for  the  authority  of 
college.  From  the  university,  Mr.  Frisbie  carried  in- 
to the  world  a  heart  rich  in  virtue  and  generous  af- 
fections, and  a  mind  stored  with  the  best  treasures 

[105] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [ISM 

of  modern  and  ancient  learning ;  with  all  his  fine  in- 
tellectual powers  and  moral  principles  so  improved 
by  culture,  that,  youthful  as  he  was,  he  united,  in  his 
character,  the  authority  of  the  critic  with  the  attrac- 
tions of  the  poet  and  orator." 

The  first  year  after  leaving  college  Mr.  Frisbie 
passed  in  the  town  of  Concord,  and  it  was  then  that 
the  friendship  between  him  and  my  mother  began. 
When  I  remember  him  most  distinctly,  he  was  a  suf- 
ferer from  the  languor  and  depression  which  usually 
accompany  invalidism.  Already  he  was  doomed  to 
consumption,  of  which  he  died  in  1822.  Probably  the 
delicacy  of  constitution  which  predisposed  him  to 
that  disease  induced,  even  in  youth,  the  "propensity 
to  melancholy"  of  which  my  mother  speaks  in  this 
letter  to  him.  I  extract  from  it  the  following: 

"Methinks  you  indulge  too  far  this  propensity  to 
melancholy.  Why  this  despondency  in  contempla- 
ting the  future  ?  Why,  blest  as  you  are  with  Religion 
to  guide  and  console,  with  sensibility  to  joy  as  well 
as  sorrow,  with  talents  and  principles  to  make  you 
useful  to  others,  and  happy  in  yourself,  should  you 
despond?  You  are  not  in  Paradise,  but  even  this  our 
world,  though  fruitful  in  woes  that  try,  and,  trying, 
purify  the  soul,  is  also  amply  stored  with  marks  of 
its  Author's  divine  beneficence.  Plenteous  are  the 
streams  of  felicity  that  flow  from  the  Fountain  of 
all  good,  and  to  each  reasonable,  uncorrupted  being 
these  streams  are  open.  Am  I  arrogantly  sermonizing 

[106] 


1802]  CONCORD 

to  one  who  might,  with  greater  justice,  correct  me? 
Oh  no !  I  am  but  saying  to  you  what  I  say  often  to 
myself — I  am  but  repeating  the  same  lessons  my 
head  has  often  taught  my  heart.  I  know  while  suffer- 
ing some  present  ill,  or  when  pained  by  some  disap- 
pointment, perhaps  trivial  in  itself,  but  magnified  by 
imagination,  we  tint  all  nature  with  the  sad  hue  of 
our  own  feelings ;  but,  is  not  an  indulgence  of  this 
disposition  ingratitude  to  Him  whose  benevolence 
formed,  sustains,  and  will  most  surely  bless  His  chil- 
dren? 

"  Have  I  wearied  you  ?  Let  me  pass,  then,  to  a  sub- 
ject more  interesting.  You  are  blest  with  the  pres- 
ence of  your  parents,  your  sisters.  If  the  character 
of  your  sisters  harmonizes  with  your  own,  you  have 
one  of  the  richest,  the  most  delightful  sources  of  hap- 
piness open  to  you.  No  friendship  can  be  more  ar- 
dent, tender,  disinterested,  and  pure ;  none  can  bear 
so  perfect  a  resemblance  to  that  which  we  believe 
will  exist  in  the  celestial  regions.  Every  considera- 
tion tends  to  rivet  the  attachment.  Alas!  I  had  a 
brother.  Henry  was  self-devoted  for  me." 

Another  friend  and  correspondent  of  my  mother's 
during  the  period  in  her  life  which  we  have  now 
reached  was  Mr.  Rockwood,  who,  my  father  used  to 
say,  was  one  of  the  most  brilliant  scholars  and  inter- 
esting men  of  the  class  of  1802.  He,  like  his  class- 
mate Frisbie,  studied  law  in  Concord,  and  thence 
removed  to  Charlestown,  where  my  father  often  met 

him. 

[107] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [ism 

Vet  another  friend  of  hers,  his  regard  descending, 
a  precious  inheritance,  to  her  children,  was  Mr.  Sam- 
uel Hoar,  of  Concord,  one  of  New  England's  most 
honoured  sons,  and,  throughout  his  life,  a  friend  of 
my  father's.  His  feeling  for  my  mother  is  thus  inci- 
dentally mentioned  by  his  daughter,  when  (writing 
to  me  of  Miss  Emerson)  she  says:  "Of  your  mother 
she  always  kept  the  tenderest  remembrance,  as  did 
my  dear  father  also.  Many  times,  in  my  latest  inter- 
course with  both,  her  name  would  be  mentioned, — 
some  little  scene  or  word  remembered,  and  always 
it  seemed  invested  with  an  ideal  charm.  I  never  heard 
my  father  speak  in  the  same  way  of  any  other  friend 
of  his  youth." 

My  mother  certainly  enjoyed  the  friendship  of 
some  of  the  most  gifted  men  of  that  day.  If  among 
them  were  those  whose  regard  for  her  was,  at  first, 
warmer  than  she  was  able  to  return,  this  does  not 
seem  to  have  prevented  their  remaining  her  friends. 
My  grandmother,  in  the  letter  to  my  father  already 
quoted,  containing  a  brief  sketch  of  my  mother's  life, 
says:  "She  had  several  offers  of  marriage,  but  none 
were  acceptable.  You  were  the  one  appointed  for 
her,  and  she  was  supremely  happy  in  the  connection." 

[108] 


CONCORD :  MISS  MARY  MOODY  EMERSON 

"T"T"NDER  date  of  February  18th,  1803,  we  have 
^/  my  mother's  first  letter  to  Mr.  Rockwood.  The 
estimate  it  contains  of  woman's  abilities  and  attain- 
ments, as  compared  with  man's,  is  in  striking  con- 
trast with  that  taken  at  the  present  day,  and  reminds 
us  how  comparatively  few  were  the  advantages  of 
education  afforded  women  at  the  beginning  of  the 
present  century. 

"Concord,  Feb.  18,  1803. 

"  I  know  I  am  doing  what  some  would  denom- 
inate madness,  and  others  imprudence,  but,  as  I  am 
not  in  the  habit  of  acting  on  the  principles  of  others 
when  I  cannot  see  their  reasonableness,  and,  as  an 
epistolary  correspondence  with  a  man  of  good  sense 
and  good  morals  is  not  inconsistent  with  my  idea 
of  propriety,  (for  I  see  many  positive  advantages, 
and  no  probable  ill  consequences  that  may  flow  from 
that  source),  I  reply  to  your  letter  with  pleasure. 

"And,  first,  let  me  correct  an  error  into  which  you 
appear  to  have  fallen,  in  the  opinion  you  have  formed 
of  my  character.  Either  you  have  mistaken  a  dispo- 
sition naturally  social,  which  leads  me  to  speak  often 
and  openly  in  company,  for  excessive  vanity,  or  you 
extremely  over-rate  my  abilities.  If  the  first  be  true, 

[109] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isos 

you  wrong  one  who,  though  enfeebled  by  the  vanity 
as  well  as  the  other  weaknesses  of  humanity,  does 
not  possess  a  sufficient  share  to  induce  her  to  believe 
the  flattering  causes  to  which  you  attribute  your 
proposal  of  a  correspondence,  unless  your  judgment 
in  this  instance  is  exceedingly  erroneous,  and  you 
believe  her  to  be  that  to  which  she  has  no  preten- 
sions. Not  to  discuss  a  long-disputed  point,  the  nat- 
ural equality  of  man  and  woman,  education  alone  is 
calculated  to  give  a  decided  superiority  of  strength 
to  the  former.  And,  when  you  recollect  the  boy  of 
twelve  is  further  advanced  in  intellectual  improve- 
ment than  the  woman  of  twenty,  you  cannot  form 
a  very  exalted  idea  of  the  advantages  that  may  be 
expected  to  result  from  a  correspondence  with  one 
for  whom  neither  nature,  nor  education,  has  done 
anything  uncommon. 

"  I  am  gratified  extremely  to  find  you  disposed  to 
consider  woman  as  'rational  and  human.'  That  we 
do  not  more  frequently  conduct  like  reasonable  be- 
ings is  the  fault  of  man ;  who,  by  the  attention  he 
pays  to  the  exterior,  seldom  fails  to  convince  us  the 
more  difficult  attainments  of  moral  and  intellectual 
excellence  may  be  easily  dispensed  with,  provided 
the  person  be  pretty,  and  the  air  and  dress  fashion- 
able. When  one  reflects  a  moment  on  the  manner 
in  which  woman  has  been  treated,  it  appears  rather 
wonderful  that  she  preserves  her  rank  among  intel- 
ligent beings,  than  that  she  is  so  often  vain  and  tri- 
fling. 

[110] 


1803]  CONCORD 

"  I  know  Mary  Wollstonecraft  is  held  in  general 
abhorrence,  and  some  of  her  principles  I  detest,  as 
undermining  the  foundations  of  social  life.  But  I  do 
not  think  she  has  been,  by  her  writings,  more  injuri- 
ous to  her  sex,  than  those  good  people  have,  who, 
so  long,  have  impressed  themselves  and  us  with  the 
belief  that  we  were  meant  as  the  mere  baubles  of  an 
hour,  neither  capable  of  being  the  companion  and 
friend  of  man,  nor  the  instructress  and  guide  of 
youth. 

"'Your  cousin,'  you  say,  'supports  her  misfortune 
with  as  much  philosophy  as  could  be  expected  of  any 
woman  whose  beauty  should  be  in  danger  of  a  scar.' 
Have  a  care  lest  you  should  grow  severe,  and  remem- 
ber that,  till  the  exterior  shall  be  less  regarded,  it 
will  ever  be  a  serious  misfortune  to  stand  near  fall- 
ing lamps." 

Next  among  my  mother's  papers  is  a  short  letter 
to  Miss  Mary  Moody  Emerson.  There  is  reason  to 
suppose  that  this  was  the  beginning  of  their  corre- 
spondence, which  continued  as  long  as  my  mother 
lived.  Miss  Emerson  left  no  direction  as  to  the  dis- 
posal of  my  mother's  letters,  and  they  were  not  pre- 
served. We  are  therefore  indebted  to  my  mother's 
habit  of  occasionally  retaining  a  duplicate  of  what 
she  wrote  for  the  few  letters  that  remain  in  evidence 
of  a  friendship  which  she  regarded  as  one  of  the  bless- 
ings of  her  life. 

My  only  personal  recollection  of  Miss  Emerson 

[mi 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isos 

carries  me  back  to  the  time  of  my  marriage  in  1830, 
when  I  left  my  old  home  in  Salem  for  the  new  one 
in  Springfield.  "  In  her  later  years,"  writes  Miss  Eliz- 
abeth Hoar,  "Miss  Emerson  liked  to  come  and  board 
in  Concord,  for  she  would  not  make  visits  of  any 
length,  and  would  start  away,  on  a  sudden  impulse, 
every  few  months,  and  go  off  by  herself  to  seek  board 
in  some  other  town  where  she  had  heard  that  the 
minister  had  books,  or  genius,  or  learning  in  the  di- 
rection of  her  tastes.  I  have  laughed  to  think  to  how 
many  different  towns  I  have  directed  letters  in  all 
parts  of  the  State ;  and  then  her  nephew,  Mr.  Emer- 
son, or  I,  would  go  and  bring  her  again  to  Concord, 
when  she  was  ready  to  come." 

When  I  went  to  Springfield  in  1830, 1  found  her 
boarding  in  the  family  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Howard.  Dur- 
ing the  short  time  that  she  remained  there  I  went 
often  to  see  her,  and  she  came  repeatedly  to  see  me. 
She  had  for  me  the  peculiar  and  almost  sacred  inter- 
est that  has  ever  attached  to  those  who  are  exclu- 
sively associated  with  my  mother.  Yet  it  was  not  as 
my  mother  knew  her  that  I  then  saw  her.  To  quote 
again  from  Miss  Hoar:  "When  she  became  inter- 
ested in  me,  she  was  already  feeble,  and  the  eccen- 
tricities and  necessities  of  old  age  made,  perhaps,  a 
stronger  impression  on  me  than  was  just  to  the  gen- 
ius and  spirituality  which  made  her  so  remarkable 
an  influence  upon  her  friends,  and  especially  her 
nephews,  in  earlier  life."  My  own  recollection  of  her 
personal  appearance  had  somewhat  faded  until  Miss 

[112] 


1803]  CONCORD 

Hoar  recalled  it  to  me  by  the  following  vivid  and 
accurate  description:  "She  was  a  little,  fair,  blue- 
eyed  woman,  her  face  never  wrinkled,  and  with  a 
delicate  pink  color  when  past  eighty,  (she  was  eighty- 
seven,  when  she  left  this  world), — a  blue  flash  in  her 
eyes  like  the  gleam  of  steel, — yellow  hair,  which, 
however,  was  cut  close,  and  covered  up  with  a  black 
band  and  mob  cap." 

I  remember  conversing  with  her  on  religious  and 
literary  subjects;  but  the  incident  in  our  intercourse 
which  made  the  strongest  impression  upon  me  was 
her  plainness  of  speech  on  one  occasion,  in  pointing 
out  to  me  what  she  considered  a  fault.  She  had  ob- 
served me  one  Sunday  morning  in  the  vestibule  of 
the  church,  smiling  and  talking  lightly  with  the 
friend  who  accompanied  me.  The  next  time  we  met 
she  told  me  it  had  pained  her  to  see  my  manner  so 
unlike  what  my  mother's  would  have  been  at  such 
a  time  and  place.  She  then  dwelt  upon  my  mother's 
subdued  and  reverent  aspect  when  entering  the  house 
of  God.  Her  reproof  touched  me  very  much,  it  was 
so  evident  that  she  was  led  to  it  by  her  fidelity  to 
my  mother's  memory. 

It  seemed  to  me  then  that  I  could  never  forget 
some  parts  of  her  conversation.  Yet,  after  the  vicis- 
situdes of  nearly  half  a  century,  I  remember  only 
that  in  intercourse  with  her  I  felt  myself  in  the 
presence  of  a  superior  being,  who  put  to  shame  my 
lower  interests  and  aims. 

My  mother's  great  love  and  admiration  for  her 
[113] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IMS 

has  made  me  wish  to  supplement  this  memory  of 
my  own  by  others  more  definite.  Miss  Hoar,  who 
was  like  a  daughter  to  Miss  Emerson  in  her  old  age, 
gives  me  the  following  account  of  her  childhood  as 
received  from  herself: 

"Her  father,  the  Rev.  William  Emerson,  was 
minister  of  Concord  at  the  beginning  of  the  Revo- 
lution, entered  the  army  as  Chaplain,  and  died  soon 
after,  of  fever,  in  Rutland,  Vt.,  leaving  a  widow  and 
five  children,  of  whom  this  daughter  Mary  was  the 
youngest  but  one.  She  was  adopted,  then,  by  an 
aunt,  her  father's  sister,  Mrs.  Waite,  in  Maiden,  and 
there  grew  up  'in  solitude  and  liberty,'  as  she  used 
to  say,  reading  everything  she  could  find  to  read, 
sitting  with  her  book  by  the  hen  on  her  nest,  '  be- 
cause she  thought  the  bird  would  be  lonely.'  She 
found  in  her  garret  at  Maiden,  in  childhood,  a  book 
without  title-page,  a  poem,  which  she  read  and  re- 
read with  delight.  Afterward,  hearing  her  scholarly 
brother  and  his  visitors  talk  of  Milton,  she  was  eager 
to  borrow  his  poems,  and  found,  for  the  first  time, 
that  her  old  book  of  the  garret  was  Milton's  'Para- 
dise Lost.'  Young,  also,  was  an  early  and  late  friend, 
the  topics  of  'Night  Thoughts'  especially  congenial 
to  her.  '  No  one,'  says  Mr.  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson, 
'can  read  her  manuscripts,  or  recall  the  conversation 
of  old-school  people,  without  seeing  that  Milton  and 
Young  had  a  religious  authority  in  their  mind,  and 
nowise  the  slight,  merely  entertaining  quality  of 

[114] 


1803]  CONCORD 

modern  bards.  And  Plato,  Aristotle,  Plotinus,  how 
venerable  and  organic  as  Nature  they  are  in  her 
mind.' 

"Her  mother,"  continues  Miss  Hoar,  "married 
Rev.  Ezra  Ripley,  her  husband's  successor  in  the 
Concord  parish,  and  added  to  her  family  three  Rip- 
ley  children ;  Sarah,  who  died  about  1825,  and  two 
sons,  one  of  whom  was  the  Rev.  Samuel  Ripley  of 
Waltham;  the  other,  Daniel,  a  lawyer,  lived  and 
died  in  the  South.  Aunt  Mary's  own  brother,  father 
of  Mr.  R.  W.  Emerson,  was  a  clergyman,  settled 
first  in  Harvard,  then  in  Boston,  over  the  First 
Church,  known  as  Chauncy  Place  Church.  He  died 
at  about  forty  years  of  age,  leaving  a  widow  and  six 
children,  five  sons,  and  an  infant  daughter  who  died 
soon  after  her  father.  Mr.  R.  W.  Emerson  was  the 
second  son  of  this  family.  Aunt  Mary,  for  many 
years,  assisted  their  mother  in  the  care  of  the  orphan 
boys,  and  they  all  acknowledged  the  important  stim- 
ulating and  guiding  influence  which  they  owed  to 
her,  and  spoke  of  her  almost  as  a  sibyl  and  prophetess 
in  their  house.  Her  aunt  left  her,  at  her  death,  a  lit- 
tle property  which  she,  afterward,  chiefly  invested 
in  the  purchase  of  a  farm  in  Waterford,  Maine,  in 
order  to  provide  a  home  for  her  youngest  sister  and 
her  family, — the  husband  having  failed  in  business. 
I  suppose  they  chose  this  distant  retreat  because  the 
oldest  sister  of  both  already  lived  there,  as  the  wife 
of  the  minister,  Rev.  Lincoln  Ripley.  The  scenery 
is  charming,  with  mountain,  valley,  and  lake.  Aunt 

[115] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IMS 

Mary  called  the  farm  Elm  Vale,  for  you  look  from 
the  house  across  a  lovely  intervale  meadow,  studded 
with  arching  elms,  to  a  beautiful  lake,  bounded  on 
one  side  by  a  mountain  cliff,  under  which  the  road 
runs  next  the  lake,  and,  on  the  other,  by  green  slo- 
ping hills,  and,  between  these,  you  look '  out  of  sight ' 
away  over  the  lake  out  into  the  world  toward  Port- 
land, fifty  miles  off.  This  farm  was  Aunt  Mary's 
home  after  the  Emerson  boys  grew  older ;  and  here 
she  read  and  wrote,  and  enjoyed  poetic  and  spiritual 
raptures,  in  comparative  seclusion  from  living  intel- 
lectual companionship ;  '  living  on  the  farm,'  which 
was  too  far  from  market  to  yield  much  money.  But, 
sometimes,  when  she  could  command  a  little  of  this 
means  of  liberty,  she  would  come  up  to  visit  her  Mas- 
sachusetts friends,  and  find  conversation,  and  new 
books  and  topics, — religious  and  spiritual  themes 
her  favourites  always.  As  I  write,  her  mind  and  char- 
acter come  up  to  me  as  so  remarkable,  so  poetical, 
so  detached  from  all  that  is  conventional  or  com- 
mon, that  I  feel  that  what  I  can  say  of  her  is  wholly 
inadequate. 

"  In  her  later  years,  her  two  sisters  had  died,  the 
Waterford  family  was  scattered,  the  farm  sold,  and 
an  annuity  bought  for  her.  Her  last  four  years  were 
spent  in  Williamsburg,  L.  I.,  in  the  care  of  a  favourite 
niece,  one  of  the  Waterford  children.  Her  thoughts, 
throughout  her  life,  dwelt  much  on  death,  and,  that 
she  might  have  everything  ready,  in  case  of  dying  sud- 
denly among  strangers,  in  her  independent  changes 

[116] 


1803]  CONCORD 

of  place,  she  kept  always  a  white  muslin  or  cambric 
robe,  which  she  called  her  shroud.  But,  as  this  might 
grow  yellow  by  lying  packed  away,  she  wore  it  for 
a  morning  robe,  and,  when  one  began  to  wear  out, 
she  would  tell  me  that  she  needed  a  new  shroud,  and 
I  bought  and  had  it  made  accordingly. 

"  She  says  of  herself, '  I  could  never  have  adorned 
the  garden.  If  I  had  been  in  aught  but  dreary  des- 
erts, I  should  have  idolized  my  friends,  despised  the 
world,  and  been  haughty.  I  never  expected  connec- 
tions and  matrimony.  My  taste  was  formed  in  ro- 
mance, and  I  knew  I  was  not  destined  to  please.  I 
love  God  and  His  creation  as  I  never  else  could.  I 
scarcely  feel  the  sympathies  of  this  life  enough  to 
agitate  the  pool.  This  in  general, — interest  in  one, 
or  so,  excepted.'  Again, — 'My  oddities  were  never 
designed.  Effect  of  an  uncalculating  constitution,  at 
first, — then,  through  isolation,  and,  as  to  dress,  from 
duty.  To  be  singular  of  choice,  without  singular  tal- 
ents and  virtues,  is  as  ridiculous  as  ungrateful. 

"A  loftier  boon  his  purpose  knows, 
A  richer  gift  his  love  bestows." 

That  greatest  of  all  gifts,  the  capacity  to  love  the  All 
Perfect,  without  regard  to  personal  Happiness, — 
Happiness  't  is  itself.' ' 

" Destitution,"  says  Mr.  R.  W.  Emerson,  "is  the 
muse  of  her  genius.  Destitution  and  Death.  And 
wonderfully  as  she  varies,  and  poetically  repeats  that 
image  in  every  page  and  day,  yet  not  less  fondly  and 
sublimely  she  returns  to  the  other,  the  grandeur  of 

[117] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isos 

humility  and  privation,  as  thus ; — 'The  chief  witness 
which  I  have  had  of  a  god-like  principle  of  action  and 
feeling  is  in  the  disinterested  joy  felt  in  others'  supe- 
riority. For  the  love  of  superior  virtue  is  mine  own 
gift  from  God.'" 

Her  nephew,  Charles  Emerson,  writes  of  her:  "I 
am  glad  the  friendship  with  Aunt  Mary  is  ripening. 
As,  by  seeing  a  high  tragedy,  reading  a  true  poem, 
or  novel  like  '  Corinne,'  so,  by  society  with  her,  one's 
mind  is  electrified  and  purged.  She  is  no  statute  book 
of  practical  commandments,  nor  orderly  digest  of 
any  system  of  philosophy,  divine  or  human,  but  a 
Bible,  miscellaneous  in  its  parts,  but  one  in  its  spirit, 
wherein  are  sentences  of  condemnation,  promises, 
and  covenants  of  love,  that  make  foolish  the  wisdom 
of  the  world,  with  the  Power  of  God." 

A  striking  illustration  of  Miss  Emerson's  power 
over  the  young,  when  she  was  herself  in  the  prime 
of  life,  comes  from  the  pen  of  one  no  less  distin- 
guished than  she  was  for  intellect  and  genius.  Miss 
Hoar  communicates  it  to  me  as  follows:  "I  have 
permission  to  copy  this  sketch  of  Miss  Emerson  from 
a  letter  of  Mrs.  Samuel  Ripley  to  Mr.  Simmons  in 
Europe": 

"Oct.  7th,  1844. 

"Mary  Emerson,  a  sister  of  Mr.  Ripley,  has  been 
with  us  till  to-day,  when  she  took  her  departure  for 
Concord.  She  is  seventy  years  old,  and  still  retains 
all  the  oddities  and  enthusiasms  of  her  youth.  A  per- 

[118] 


1803]  CONCORD 

son  at  war  with  society  as  to  all  its  decorums,  eats 
and  drinks  what  others  do  not,  and  when  they  do  not, 
dresses  in  a  white  robe  such  days  as  these  (October), 
enters  into  conversation  with  every  body,  and  talks 
on  every  subject,  is  sharp  as  a  razor  in  her  satire,  and 
sees  you  through  and  through  in  a  moment.  She  has 
read  all  her  life  in  the  most  miscellaneous  way,  and 
her  appetite  for  metaphysics  is  insatiable.  Alas  for 
the  victim  in  whose  intellect  she  sees  any  promise! 
Descartes  and  his  vortices,  Leibnitz  and  his  monads, 
Spinoza  and  his  Unica  Substantia  will  prove  it  to  the 
very  core.  But,  notwithstanding  all  this,  her  power 
over  the  minds  of  her  young  friends  was  once  al- 
most despotic.  She  heard  of  me,  when  I  was  sixteen, 
as  a  person  devoted  to  books  and  a  sick  mother, 
sought  me  out  in  my  garret,  without  any  introduc- 
tion, and,  though  received  at  first  with  sufficient  cold- 
ness, did  not  give  up  till  she  had  enchained  me  en- 
tirely in  her  magic  circle." 

The  following  letter,  from  Mrs.  Ripley  at  the  age 
of  sixteen,  was  found  among  Miss  Emerson's  papers, 
marked,  "first  letter  of  her  childhood  in  friendship": 

"Z)rar,  dear  Mary, — I  am  afraid  you  will  hear  no 
more  about  satiety  and  disgust  of  life.  With  every 
rising  dawn  your  idea  is  associated.  The  day  no  longer 
presents  an  unvaried  round  of  domestic  duties ;  bright 
gleams  of  hope  illuminate  the  dull  perspective ;  the 
mellow  rays  of  the  declining  sun  sweep  the  chords 
of  love.  Your  idea  intrudes  too  often  on  hallowed 

[119] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE          [IMS 

hours.  But  the  affection  whose  object  is  so  pure,  so 
heavenly,  will  not  militate  with  devotion.  How  de- 
lightful the  thought  that  our  religion  sanctions  friend- 
ship! May  all  that  can  render  life's  journey  pleasant 
be  yours  in  perfection ! " 

My  mother  at  twenty-two  entered  upon  her  cor- 
respondence with  Miss  Emerson  in  a  more  subdued 
tone  than  that  in  which  Mrs.  Ripley  wrote  at  sixteen. 
From  other  papers  of  my  mother's,  however,  it  is 
evident  that  she  was  equally  captivated  by  her  friend's 
extraordinary  gifts.  This  letter  appears  to  have  been 
written  after  a  proposal  from  Miss  Emerson,  to  which 
my  mother  had  at  first  acceded,  that  they  should  cor- 
respond with  each  other,  taking  friendship  for  their 
theme,  and  giving  their  correspondence  to  the  pub- 
lic, through  the  pages  of  a  magazine  which  Miss  Em- 
erson's brother  edited  or  was  about  to  edit. 

"Concord,  Feb.  23rd,  1803. 

"The  pleasant  hours  I  lately  passed  with  you,  my 
dear  Miss  Emerson,  would  furnish  me  with  the  most 
cogent  arguments  in  favour  of  the  advantages  of 
Friendship,  had  I  previously  needed  them.  The  sub- 
ject is  as  copious  and  as  interesting  as  you  could  have 
selected  for  a  first  essay  of  my  weak  powers.  Will 
you  then  candidly  allow  me  to  be  actuated  by  bet- 
ter motives  than  false  shame,  indolence,  or  stupidity, 
when  I  decline  entering  the  lists  with  an  antagonist 
who  does  me  honour  by  selecting  me  for  her  opposer  ? 

"You  are  entitled  to  a  knowledge  of  the  reasons 
[120] 


1803]  CONCORD 

that  induce  me  to  give  an  answer  to  your  proposal 
so  different  to  that  which  I,  at  first,  intended.  New 
to  any  thing  which  merits  the  name  of  composition, 
I  wish  to  pursue  a  course  of  reading  calculated  to 
improve  the  judgment  and  correct  the  taste,  to  fur- 
nish the  memory,  and  form  the  style.  Nor  dare  I,  even 
under  the  mask  of  a  fictitious  name,  present  any 
thing  at  present  to  the  criticism  of  the  public.  This 
is  not  an  affectation  of  modesty.  I  really  feel  my  in- 
ability to  improve,  or  even  greatly  amuse,  the  pub- 
lic. And  I  am  sure  your  brother,  whose  excellent 
understanding  would  enable  him  to  see  the  exact 
merits  of  every  performance,  would  censure  me  for 
presumption  should  I  attempt  a  public  disputation 
with  his  sister.  For  yourself,  flattered  by  a  belief  that 
your  partiality  would,  like  the  bandeau  of  Love,  con- 
ceal from  your  view  the  weaknesses,  and  soften  the 
deformities  of  your  friend,  I  should,  with  pleasure  and 
profit,  continue  a  correspondence  you  have  so  kindly 
commenced.  If  you  decline  it  on  any  other  terms  than 
those  mentioned  in  your  letter,  I  must,  however, 
for  the  present,  lose  the  advantage.  Perhaps,  some 
months  hence,  I  may  gain  courage. 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  feel  wholly  uninterested  in 
my  pursuits  when  I  tell  you,  in  confidence,  I  am 
commencing  a  translation  from  the  French,  on  the 
subject  of  the  imagination.  As  I  have,  already,  made 
use  of  the  signature  of  Eugenia,  anything  you  may, 
in  future,  see  over  that  signature,  of  the  translation 
kind,  will  probably  flow  from  the  pen  of  your  friend. 

[121] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IBOS 

I  feel  more  confidence  in  an  undertaking  of  that 
kind,  as  no  very  great  exertion  of  talents  will  be 
necessary.  I  intend  very  soon  perusing  Kames'  Es- 
say on  Criticism.  I  have  been  extremely  pleased  with 
a  few  chapters  in  it.  If  you  have  not  already  seen 
it,  I  think  you  will  be  amply  repaid  for  a  perusal, 
by  the  pleasure  a  good  author  always  gives  to  the 
mind. 

"After  your  recommendation  of  Godwin's  'St. 
Leon,'  I  sent  to  town  for  it,  but  could  not  procure  it 
at  the  circulating  Library.  I  shall  not,  however,  cease 
to  inquire  after  it,  as  you  have  told  me  it  contains 
your  idea  of  a  perfect  female  character. 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  be  displeased  to  be  assured 
I  shall  write  to  you  as  frequently  as  weak  eyes,  and 
my  other  avocations,  will  permit.  Allow  me  to  hope 
the  friendship  I  sincerely  feel  for  you  will  continue 
to  increase  through  life,  and  in  death  be  perfected. 
Adieu." 

To  Ruth  Kurd: 

"Concord,  April  9th,  1803. 

"I  send  for  your  perusal  Gisborne's  'Female  Du- 
ties,' and  think  both  yourself  and  sister  will  read  the 
volume  with  approbation.  Perhaps  his  system  is  not 
perfect, —  we  are  told 

'He  who  hopes  a  faultless  work  to  see 
Hopes  what  ne'er  was,  nor  is,  nor  e'er  shall  be.' 

To  me,  I  confess,  it  appears  one  of  the  best  works 
of  the  kind  I  ever  read.  He  has  preserved  the  good 

[122] 


1803]  CONCORD 

medium,  and  has  not  thought  fit  to  make  us  either 
Amazons  or  babies — goddesses  or  idiots.  He  appears 
to  me  to  have  given  the  female  character  nearly  the 
dignity  and  energy  of  Mary  Wollstonecraft,  with  far 
more  amiability  and  sweetness.  He  is  unquestiona- 
bly superior  to  Fordyce,  Bennett,  and  all  that  class 
of  writers,  who  degrade  Woman  to  infancy,  and  al- 
low her  scarcely  any  real  virtue,  except  Humility. 

"  Will  you  now,  my  dear  Ruth,  pardon  what  may, 
perhaps,  appear  offi  ciousness  ?  Will  you  impute  it  to 
its  right  source — a  tender  friendship  for  you,  founded 
on  the  virtues  and  graces  I  have  long  observed  in 
your  character?  Will  you  permit  me  to  inquire  why 
you  and  your  amiable  sister,  believing  in  Divine 
Revelation,  expecting  salvation  only  through  the 
merits  of  our  Divine  Redeemer,  do  not  publicly 
comply  with  the  last  and  most  affecting  institution 
of  our  Beneficent  Friend  ?  Every  inducement  is  of- 
fered— 'Whoso  confesseth  me  before  men,  him  will 
I  confess  before  my  Father  who  is  in  Heaven;' 
'This  do  in  remembrance  of  me;'  'If  ye  love  me, 
keep  my  commandments.' 

"I  would  not  be  deemed  impertinently  officious, 
but,  sensible  a  few  observations  made  by  an  affec- 
tionate friend  of  the  same  age,  who  must  be  ex- 
pected to  feel  the  same  passions,  and  be  influenced 
by  the  same  objects,  often  has  a  greater  effect  than 
the  more  sage  advice  of  those  whom  age  or  circum- 
stance has  made  our  superiors,  and,  of  course,  re- 
moved beyond  our  opinions  and  feelings,  I  would 

[123] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IMS 

offer  the  subject  to  you,  though  deeply  impressed 
with  a  sense  of  my  own  inferiority  in  very  many 
points  to  yourself." 

To  Ann  Bromfield: 

"Concord,  April  13th,  1803. 

"Is  it  you,  my  dear  friend,  who  apply  for  argu- 
ments in  favour  of  Sensibility!  You,  who  declare 
yourself  ready  to  take  arms  against  it !  You,  who  are 
in  gratitude  bound  to  employ  all  the  strength  of 
reason,  and  graces  of  eloquence,  in  defence  of  that 
quality  which  exalts  us,  nearer  than  any  other,  to 
Divinity!  Without  it,  how  much  better,  or  happier, 
should  we  be,  than  statues  of  marble?  What  is  it  you 
best  love,  in  those  you  love  ?  What  is  the  magnet  that  • 
attracts  to  you  so  many  hearts  ?  Divine  Sensibility — 
enthusiasm  of  feeling — thou  art  the  universal  mag- 
net, thou  art  the  guardian  and  pledge  of  virtue ;  the 
heart  in  which  thou  residest,  will  recoil  with  horror 
from  vice ;  thou  inspirest  the  noblest  sentiments,  the 
most  sublime  ideas !  To  injure  the  feelings  of  another 
appears  to  thy  children  more  criminal  than  robbery 
or  murder  appears  to  the  unfeeling.  Thy  joys  are  rap- 
turous,— they  penetrate  the  soul, — even  thy  pains 
are  delightful,  for  they  demonstrate  our  existence, 
and  our  capability  of  enjoyment! 

"I  acknowledge  this  is  rhapsody,  and  not  argu- 
ment; but,  who  can  argue  coolly  on  such  a  theme, 
or  who  can  judge  of  it  impartially?  Those  who  pos- 
sess it  love  even  its  sorrows, — and  those  who  possess 

[124] 


1803]  CONCORD 

it  not  are  indifferent  even  to  its  joys.  Your  own  heart 
will  plead  the  cause  far  more  eloquently  than  my  pen. 
I  will,  therefore,  only  add,  the  same  objections  of- 
fered against  Sensibility  might  apply  to  every  thing 
valuable;  for,  is  there  any  thing  worth  attaining, 
which  can  be  won  or  preserved  without  difficulty  or 
danger?  Is  there  any  good  which  may  not  be  per- 
verted?" 

Our  next  record  finds  my  mother  visiting  her 
friend  Miss  Atherton,  in  Lancaster.  It  is  a  letter  to 
Miss  Sarah  Ripley,  one  of  a  little  packet  which  has 
been  recently  found  in  the  garret  of  the  Old  Manse, 
at  Concord,  which  Hawthorne  has  so  inimitably  de- 
scribed. Rich  as  that  time-honoured  dwelling  is  in  as- 
sociations, it  has  none  of  such  interest  to  us  as  those 
which  connect  it  with  my  mother's  memory.  During 
her  childhood  and  youth,  and  for  nearly  half  a  cen- 
tury later,  it  was  the  abode  of  her  beloved  friend  and 
pastor,  the  Rev.  Ezra  Ripley,  who  was  like  a  father 
to  her,  and  the  parsonage,  as  she  calls  it,  was  her  fa- 
vourite resort,  hardly  a  day  passing  without  an  inter- 
change of  visits  between  its  inmates  and  the  family 
of  Dr.  Hurd. 

When,  during  childhood,  my  sister  and  I  visited 
our  grandmother  in  Concord,  we  were  always  taken 
to  see  Dr.  Ripley.  I  recollect  him  as  we  used  to  find 
him,  in  dressing-gown  and  slippers,  seated  in  his 
study,  and  seeming  to  my  young  eyes  older  than 
much  older  people  have  seemed  since.  His  daughter 

[125] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IMS 

("  Cousin  Sarah  Ripley,"  we  used  to  call  her)  I  shall 
never  forget.  She  is  prominent  in  remembrance 
among  the  number  of  those  whose  tenderness,  not 
to  say  sadness,  of  manner  in  meeting  us  made  us 
feel,  even  at  an  early  age,  that  the  sight  of  our  moth- 
er's children  renewed  their  grief  under  her  loss.  She 
and  my  mother  grew  up  together  in  the  intimacy  of 
sisters. 

"Elm  Hill,  Lancaster, 

27th  April,  1803. 

"  On  my  arrival  here,  I  found  my  friend  confined 
to  her  chamber,  and  principally  to  her  bed.  Her  re- 
covery has  been  rapid.  We  have  taken  the  air  fre- 
quently together,  and,  I  assure  you,  I  have  become 
an  accomplished  driver.  'T  is  said,  every  one  is  fitted 
to  excel  in  some  particular  pursuit,  and  who  knows 
but  your  Mary  was  originally  designed  for  that  ex- 
alted station, — the  coach-box? 

"  I  have  visited  the  grave  of  my  father.  I  have  wept 
over  the  turf  that  covers  what  was  once  the  taber- 
nacle of  an  immortal  spirit.  Mary,  alone,  of  all  his 
children,  remains  to  cherish  his  memory!  I  had  seen 
but  eight  summers  when  my  father  was  on  the  bed 
of  death, — never  will  that  scene  be  effaced  from  my 
remembrance.  There  did  I  witness  the  resplendent 
glory  of  a  Christian's  hope.  It  triumphed  over  the 
agonies  of  dissolution  and  the  terrors  of  death.  Four- 
teen years  have  passed  away — they  appear  like  a 
dream.  Yet  a  little  time,  and  I  also  shall  be  numbered 
with  the  dead.  Oh,  may  I  be  numbered  with  those 

[126] 


1803]  CONCORD 

who  sleep  in  Jesus !  I  have  been  insensibly  led  to  this 
subject  by  speaking  of  my  native  village.  The  image 
of  my  father  is  connected  with  everything  around 
me, — his  remembrance  consecrates  every  scene." 

To  Ann  Bromfield : 

"Concord,  May  16th,  1803. 

"  You  describe  your  solitude  as  absolute ;  to  you, 
I  am  sure,  it  is  not  therefore  unpleasant.  The  open- 
ing spring,  in  a  place  whose  situation  is  uncommonly 
charming,  must  supply  you  with  pure  and  animated 
pleasure.  For  myself,  however,  I  acknowledge  *  sober 
Autumn '  has  charms  more  attractive  than  any  other 
season.  Perhaps  it  is  endeared  to  my  heart  by  the 
recollection  that  the  last  months  I  passed  in  the  so- 
ciety of  friends  inexpressibly  beloved,  and  whose  eyes 
are  now  closed  in  death,  was  at  the  conclusion  of  the 
year. 

"Do  you  not  think,  my  dear  friend,  it  is  equally 
duty  and  good  policy  to  cultivate  a  taste  for  the  beau- 
ties of  Nature  ?  Are  there  any  pleasures  purer  or  more 
transporting?  Is  not  our  devotion  animated  by  it?  Is 
it  not  even  a  species  of  devotion  to  admire  the  works 
of  the  Creator?  The  calm  enjoyment,  the  elevating 
serenity,  which  pervades  the  soul,  and  raises  it  above 
the  cares  and  sorrows  of  life,  is  seldom  felt  more  per- 
fectly than  when  contemplating  the  sun  sinking  be- 
hind distant  heights,  and  gilding,  with  his  setting 
rays,  a  fine  prospect.  I  have  rarely  attempted  to  an- 
alyze my  feelings  at  such  a  time.  I  felt  that  I  was 

[127] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isos 

happy  in  myself,  and  that  my  mind  glowed  with  a 
warmer  love  to  the  Creator  and  His  works. 

"When  at  Lancaster,  I  became  acquainted  with 
a  lovely  woman  whom  you  have  seen,  and.  whom  I 
wish  you  to  love.  Mrs.  Lee,  formerly  Miss  Leighton, 
the  cousin  and  friend  of  Miss  Soley,  whose  heart, 
understanding,  and  accomplishments  entitle  her  to 
general  admiration,  but  whose  unassuming  modesty 
rather  shuns  than  claims  applause,  is  the  lady  to 
whom  I  refer.  She  spoke  feelingly  of  you,  and  I  think 
she  must  have  retained  a  place  in  your  memory. 
Though  educated  in  the  metropolis,  her  taste  and 
her  pursuits  fit  her  remarkably  for  the  enjoyment 
of  retirement. 

"I  am  hastened  to  conclude  my  letter.  Adieu, 
therefore,  my  friend.  May  the  beauties  of  Spring,  the 
glories  of  Summer,  the  bounties  of  Autumn,  and  the 
sublime  horrors  of  Winter,  be  to  you  exhaustless,  and 
ever- varying,  sources  of  delight:  and  when  'rolling 
years  shall  cease  to  move,'  may  we  meet  never  to 
separate — in  the  mansions  of  our  Heavenly  Fa- 
ther. Again  Adieu,  says  your 

MARY  VAN  SCHALKWYCK." 

Two  days  later  my  mother  wrote  the  following 
letter  to  Miss  Emerson : 

"Concord,  May  18th,  1803. 

"Permit  me  to  say,  you  have  only  changed  the 
name,  not  the  nature,  of  the  correspondence  you 
proposed.  I  still  find  myself  compelled  to  be  your 

[128] 


1803]  CONCORD 

opposer,  still  find  myself  obliged  to  combat  the  in- 
genuity of  your  wit,  and  the  cogency  of  your  rea- 
soning. I  coincide  perfectly  with  you  in  the  opinion 
that  'hazardous  fallibility,'  that  weakness  and  imper- 
fection, attach  to  every  mortal  pursuit.  Friendship, 
like  every  other  affection  of  the  human  heart,  like 
every  other  engagement,  and  like  all  other  good, 
may  be  disappointed  in  its  exertions,  is  liable  to 
change,  and  may  be  perverted  to  an  evil.  But,  should 
we  argue  because  there  are  bad  Christians,  Christi- 
anity is  in  itself  bad  ?  Because  friends  are  often  weak 
and  sometimes  false,  Friendship  has  a  natural  tend- 
ency to  weaken  and  corrupt  ?  What  do  we  under- 
stand by  Friendship  ?  Is  it  not  a  sympathy  of  tastes 
and  opinions,  of  likes  and  dislikes,  proved  by  famil- 
iar intercourse,  and  cemented  by  mutual  offices  of 
kindness?  Is  this  a  right  definition?  What  are  its  du- 
ties ?  Are  they  not  to  benefit  and  improve  our  friends 
to  the  extent  of  our  ability,  without  injuring  any 
other ;  to  enlighten  them  as  much  as  possible  by  our 
discernment  and  judgment,  to  defend  them  when  in- 
jured, to  sympathize  with  them  in  affliction,  and  re- 
joice in  their  prosperity  ?  If  I  have  been  deficient  in 
detailing  the  duties  of  Friendship,  your  own  heart 
and  understanding  will  correct  the  deficiency.  Is 
evil  necessarily  an  attendant  on  a  connection  like 
this? 

"You  inquire  if  it  does  not  lessen  the  independ- 
ence of  the  mind  ?  Were  we,  my  dear  Miss  Emer- 
son, designed  for  independence?  Are  we  not  natu- 

[129] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IMS 

rally  dependent  on  each  other's  aid  ?  To  what  would 
amount  the  knowledge  of  a  single  man,  unassisted 
by  the  reason  and  experience  of  others?  Would  it 
not  require  a  whole  life  to  acquire  that  which  a  child 
might  attain  by  a  communication  of  the  light  of 
others  ?  Does  not  our  whole  structure,  moral,  intel- 
lectual, and  physical,  demonstrate  our  mutual  de- 
pendence ? 

"'But,'  you  ask,  'does  it  not  cool  our  ardour  for  a 
purer  state,  and  turn  the  tide  of  our  affections  from 
eternal  to  mortal  beauty?'  Possibly,  but  I  repeat, 
not  necessarily.  Do  we  adore  the  Creator  less  fer- 
vently because  we  admire  the  reflection  of  His  splen- 
dour in  the  soul  of  His  creature  ?  Is  our  grateful  ad- 
oration diminished  by  communication  ?  On  the  con- 
trary, when  conversing  with  a  friend  on  the  wisdom 
and  goodness  of  our  common  Father,  does  not  'our 
heart  burn  within  us,'  and  do  we  not  feel  the  ardour 
of  our  love  increased  by  being  participated  ? 

"Your  last  objection  is  most  difficult  to  be  obvi- 
ated, and  its  evils  are  most  generally  attendant  on 
a  connection  which,  by  prejudicing  our  judgments, 
renders  us  too  indulgent  to  the  failings,  and  too  ex- 
aggeratingly  kind  to  the  good  qualities  of  our  friends. 
It  is,  however,  undoubtedly  one  of  the  most  heroic 
proofs  of  genuine  Friendship  to  repress  this  weak- 
ness where  it  would  be  injurious,  and  to  correct  our 
friend  with  the  same  firmness  with  which  we  should 
endeavour  to  correct  ourselves." 

[130] 


1803]  CONCORD 

The  following  passage  is  from  a  letter  without  ad- 
dress or  date: 

"You  cannot  suppose  I  should  hear  with  indiffer- 
ence anything  suggested  to  the  disadvantage  of  N. 
The  mystery  blended  with  your  accusation  of  her 
heart  gave  me  serious  pain,  since  it  incapacitated  me 
for  undertaking  her  defence, — and  defended  I  am 
certain  she  deserves  to  be.  You  say  you  derived  your 
information  from  a  source  that  cannot  be  contro- 
verted, but,  tell  me,  is  it  possible  for  any  one  to  judge 
unerringly  of  the  heart  of  another?  Actions  appar- 
ently wrong  may  originate  in  pure  motives,  and  sen- 
timents may  be  expressed  in  the  gaiety  of  the  mo- 
ment, totally  the  reverse  of  general  feeling  and  opin- 
ion. As  you  express  a  reluctance  to  be  explicit,  I 
cannot  urge  you  farther.  Less  I  could  not  say;  more 
I  think  andfeel.  I  entreat  you  to  examine  candidly 
to  the  bottom  of  the  affair.  I  am  certain  a  thorough 
investigation  will  terminate  to  her  advantage.  My 
acquaintance  with  her  is  not  superficial.  I  have  known 
her  from  ten  to  twenty,  and  one  cannot  be  a  deceiver 
at  that  age,  and  for  such  a  length  of  time." 

We  come  now  to  my  mother's  first  letter  to  her 
new  friend,  Mrs.  Lee,  with  whom  she  corresponded 
quite  regularly  for  several  years,  the  friendship  con- 
tinuing, on  both  sides,  with  unabated  warmth  as  long 
as  my  mother  lived.  I  do  not  remember  ever  meet- 
ing Mrs.  Lee,  but  when  on  my  marriage  I  moved  to 

[131] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IMS 

Springfield,  I  found  myself  a  neighbour  to  her  oldest 
daughter,  who  had  married  one  of  Mr.  Dwight's 
cousins.  We  used  often  to  talk  of  the  friendship  of 
our  mothers,  and  it  was  through  her  that  I  received 
my  mother's  letters  to  Mrs.  Lee. 

"Concord,  May  20th,  1803. 

"According  to  the  rules  of  etiquette,  this  should 
be  a  formal,  complimentary,  introductory  epistle.  I 
should  commence  by  speaking  of  the  honour  of  ad- 
dressing a  lady  so  much  my  superior,  etc.  etc.  and, 
after  flourishing  a  few  laboured  periods,  after  having 
presented  a  few  flowery  compliments,  and  having 
introduced  two  or  three  studied  sentimental  obser- 
vations (Ellenora  like),  I  should  conclude,  very  much 
to  your  joy  and  my  own.  Instead  of  this,  behold  me 
seated  at  my  writing-table,  scribbling  with  all  the 
ease  and  pleasure  with  which  I  should  address  an  old 
and  beloved  correspondent. 

"Scarcely  can  I  realize,  my  dear  Mrs.  Lee,  our 
acquaintance  was  formed  but  yesterday.  The  affect- 
ing circumstances  under  which  that  acquaintance 
commenced,  our  mutual  friendship  for  S.,  the  deep 
interest  we  both  felt  in  her  happiness,  and  the  con- 
geniality of  our  sentiments  on  that,  and  several  other 
subjects,  have  given  to  our  acquaintance  the  sacred 
stamp  of  Friendship.  At  least,  this  is  what  I  feel,  and 
flatter  myself  with  your  sympathy.  As  I  do  not  think 
it  probable  our  characters  will  change  essentially, 
and,  as  I  do  not  think  my  present  feelings  the  effect 

[132] 


1803]  CONCORD 

of  romance  (having  passed  the  age  of  fifteen),  I  cal- 
culate on  their  durability,  and  anticipate  much  sat- 
isfaction from  their  indulgence."  [After  a  page  given 
to  the  troubles  of  a  friend,  and  the  solicitude  felt  for 
her,  my  mother  closes  with]  "  Kiss  Elizabeth  for  me, 
and  accept  the  affectionate  Adieu  of 

MARY  VAN  SCHALKWYCK. 

"P.S.  I  am  enchanted  with  Gessner's  'Premier 
Navigateur.'  Have  you  perused  it?  Recollect  I  shall 
not  return  the  volumes  you  had  the  goodness  to  loan 
me,  till  you  come  for  them.  May  I  not  hope  this 
commencement  of  a  correspondence  will  not  remain 
long  unanswered?" 

The  following  is  part  of  Mrs.  Lee's  letter  in  reply : 

"Lancaster,  21st  May,  1803. 
"And,  'according  to  etiquette,'  my  lovely  friend, 
it  ought,  at  least,  to  be  a  month  before  I  should  suf- 
fer myself  to  inform  you,  (and  then  in  a  very  limited 
degree,)  how  much  gratitude  and  pleasure  I  felt  in 
the  receival  of  your  very  kind  letter.  Shall  I  not  ad- 
dress you  by  the  endearing  appellation  of  Friend? 
My  heart  has  yearned  to  do  it,  from  the  moment  I 
first  beheld  Mary  Wilder ;  and  your  begun  goodness 
gives  me  reason  to  hope  it  will  not  be  unpleasant. 
The  repeated  conversations  that  our  mutual  friend 
and  myself  have  held  concerning  you,  have  always 
ended  with  a  sincere  wish,  on  my  part,  to  share  a 
portion  of  your  regard ;  I  felt  none  of  those  feelings 

[133] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isos 

that  are  usual  in  first  interviews,  and  longed  to  em- 
brace, the  moment  we  met.  Fearing  your  delicacy 
would  be  injured  by  so  sudden  an  avowal  of  friend- 
ship, I  restrained  the  better  feelings  of  my  heart,  and 
appeared  the  common  acquaintance." 

From  my  mother  to  Ruth  Hurd : 

"May  25th,  1803. 

"I  renew  my  self-congratulations  every  letter  I 
have  the  pleasure  to  receive  from  you,  my  dear  Ruth ; 
and,  though  a  numerous  correspondence  is  no  more 
desirable  than  a  very  large  acquaintance,  and  neither, 
in  my  opinion,  can  be  extremely  interesting,  yet  an 
epistolary  correspondence  with  a  select  number  whom 
we  either  love  cordially,  or  esteem  sincerely,  appears 
to  me  one  of  the  dearest  enjoyments  of  social  life.  It 
has  this  advantage  over  conversation, — we  are  more 
cool  and  collected,  we  are  not  so  completely  under 
the  influence  of  that  sweet  enthusiasm,  which  so  often 
blinds  our  judgment,  when  warmed  by  the  presence 
of  a  friend ;  and  our  opinions  and  sentiments  are  ex- 
pressed more  clearly,  because  conceived  more  dis- 
tinctly. 

"Do  you  think,  my  dear  Ruth,  a  taste  for  natural 
pleasures,  and  for  the  beauties  of  Nature,  is  cultiva- 
ted with  sufficient  care  ?  Generally  speaking,  is  it  not, 
with  many  of  our  nobler  faculties,  neglected  till  it 
becomes  almost  extinct? 

"Are  you  not  alarmed  at  the  length  of  my  letters  ? 
In  compassion  to  my  correspondents,  I  have  sent  to 

[134] 


1803]  CONCORD 

town  for  paper  of  a  smaller  size ;  for,  when  writing  to 
those  in  whom  my  heart  is  interested,  I  find  it  im- 
possible to  prevent  filling  up  the  sheet." 

To  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Lee: 

"Concord,  May  27th,  1803. 

"I  shall  never  find  words,  my  dear  Mrs.  Lee,  to 
express  the  grateful  pleasure  with  which  I  received 
your  immediate  answer  to  my  introductory  letter.  I 
can  only  say  I  considered  it  a  pledge  of  our  new-born, 
but,  I  trust,  immortal  friendship. 

"  What  have  you  read  since  I  saw  you  ?  I  have  pe- 
rused, with  delight,  this  morning,  'Estelle,'  by  Flo- 
rian,  a  charming  little  pastoral  romance,  which  speaks 
eloquently  to  the  heart,  and  interests  its  best  feelings. 
Do  you  not  think  that  species  of  romance  has  a  fine 
effect  on  the  heart  ?  Would  it  be  possible  for  any  one 
to  be  conversant  with  Gessner,  and  not  to  find  the 
wish  of  emulating  the  virtues  he  paints  so  lovely  and 
interesting,  glow  in  their  soul  of  souls  ?  The  heroes 
and  heroines  of  tragedy  soar  often  beyond  our  im- 
itation, the  situations  in  which  they  are  placed  are  not 
those  of  common  life ;  but  every  one  has  the  power 
of  bestowing  and  enjoying  happiness,  either  in  the 
character  of  an  affectionate  child,  a  faithful  friend, 
an  endearing  companion,  or  a  tender  parent. '  Estelle' 
is  preceded  by  an  'Essai  sur  la  Pastorale.'  In  giving 
his  opinion  of  the  style  most  suitable,  the  author  says : 
— 'II  faut  qu'il  soit  simple,  car  1'auteur  raconte;  il 
faut  qu'il  soit  naif,  puisque  les  personnages  dont  il 

[135] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IMS 

parle,  et  qu'il  fait  parler,  n'ont  d'autre  eloquence 
que  celle  du  cceur ;  il  faut,  aussi,  qu'il  soit  noble,  car 
partout  il  doit  etre  question  de  la  vertu,  et  la  vertu 
s'exprime  toujours  avec  noblesse.'  Do  you  not  ad- 
mire here  Florian's  style?  He  seldom  attempts  the 
grand,  nor  has  he  need ;  he  is  certain  to  charm  when- 
ever he  follows  the  dictates  of  his  genius,  which  is 
pure,  tender,  and  affecting." 

To  Mr.  Rockwood: 

"Concord,  June  7th,  1803. 

"  Your  picture  of  fashionable  follies,  and  life  a-la- 
mode,  is  highly  coloured,  but,  alas !  the  sketch  is  too 
just.  I  hope,  however,  the  number  of  fashion's  vota- 
ries is  more  circumscribed  than  you  appear  to  im- 
agine. Few,  indeed,  are  uninfluenced  by  her  in  exter- 
nals ;  it  is  perhaps  wisdom  to  acquiesce  in  trifles ;  but, 
I  trust,  there  is  a  good  proportion,  whose  independ- 
ence disdains  to  sacrifice  at  her  altar  moral  principle, 
or  essential  duty.  You  called  me  an  enthusiast  at 
Charlestown;  may  I  not,  with  justice,  retort, the 
charge  ?  Can  sober  reason  have  told  you  the  great 
body  of  mankind  was  light  and  unprincipled,  devoid 
of  taste  and  judgment,  without  discernment  to  see, 
or  strength  to  pursue,  the  path  of  rectitude  and  hap- 
piness? Methinks,  you  insinuate  even  more;  you 
think  them  not  only  frivolous  and  vain  in  themselves, 
but  insensible  to  the  beauty  of  virtue,  or  brilliancy 
of  genius,  in  others.  Are  you  not  too  severe  ?  Is  it 
not  true  that,  though  there  is  a  proportion  of  society 

[136] 


1803]  CONCORD 

denominated  fashionable,  who,  desiring  to  distin- 
guish themselves  from  the  '  small  vulgar,'  and  unable 
to  do  it  by  any  real  superiority,  endeavour  to  ef- 
fect their  purpose  by  singularity  of  dress  and  man- 
ners; yet,  that  good  sense  still  retains  her  empire 
over  the  minds  of  very  many,  and  that  virtue  and  tal- 
ents ever  did,  and  ever  will,  irresistibly  command  the 
admiration  of  the  world?" 

From  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Lee,  dated  June  30,  1803: 

"  I  am  much  obliged  by  your  immediately  procur- 
ing me  the  satisfaction  of  perusing  Sully.  His  mem- 
oirs ought  to  be  studied  by  every  one  who  has  any 
connection  with  Courts  or  Governments,  and  should 
be  read  by  all  who  have  leisure  and  taste  for  history, 
and  who  wish  to  profit  by  the  example  and  advice 
of  one  of  the  most  virtuous  and  enlightened  men 
Europe  ever  produced.  Is  it  not  astonishing  that  any 
man  should  find  it  possible  to  fulfil  the  various  du- 
ties, and  neglect  none  of  the  important  offices,  of 
Counsellor,  Minister,  Financier,  Field  Marshal,  etc. 
etc.  Order  and  industry  effected  all ;  aided  by  them, 
there  are  few  things  which  may  not  be  accomplished, 
and,  without  them,  man  must  not  hope  to  become 
eminently  great  or  useful." 

In  reference  to  the  troubles  of  a  friend,  my  mother 
says :  "  I  have,  through  the  whole  course  of  this  com 
plicated  affair,  dreaded  more  from  her  romantic  and 
mistaken  generosity,  than  from  any  other  source. 

[137] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [i*» 

She  forgets  that  truth  and  justice,  though  less  bril- 
liant, are  more  valuable  than  this  refinement  of  gen- 
erosity." 

To  Ann  Bromfield: 

"Concord,  July  12th,  1803. 

"  I  was  this  week  made  happy  by  a  short  visit  from 
Mrs.  Lee,  and  Miss  Soley.  I  have  the  satisfaction  of 
assuring  you  the  latter  is  delighted  with  Lancaster, 
and  has  found  the  air  peculiarly  salutary.  We  had  a 
violent  dispute  on  the  merits  of  Ossian, — you  know 
her  opinion  on  that  subject.  I  was  gratified  by  learn- 
ing from  her,  that  you,  like  myself,  are  an  enthusiast 
in  his  praise.  The  picturesque  epithets,  to  which  she 
objects,  in  my  opinion  constitute  one  of  his  most 
striking  beauties.  When  he  describes  'the  white-bos- 
omed daughter  of  Toscar,  with  soft  blue  eyes,  and 
dark-brown  hair,'  the  image  is  conveyed  perfectly 
and  distinctly  to  my  imagination.  No  general  terms 
could  have  this  effect.  His  pathos,  and  sublimity,  ap- 
pear to  me  almost  unequalled.  In  marking  the  ap- 
pearance of  his  ghosts,  sailing  on  the  red  flame,  or 
descending  on  the  moon-beam,  'the  stars  dim  twin- 
kling through  their  forms,' we  wish  to  prolong  the  de- 
lightful terror  that  thrills  through  the  heart.  Think 
you,  my  dear  Ann,  the  imagination  of  the  Poet  was 
not  much  aided  by  the  scenery  to  which  he  was  ac- 
customed ?  Think  you  a  bard  of  modern  times,  sur- 
rounded only  by  cultivated  nature,  could  equal  in 

[138] 


1803]  CONCORD 

wild  sublimity  the  songs  of  the  war-like  Ossian  ?  Or 
that  the  hero,  on  his  mountain,  followed  by  his  dogs, 
and  listening  to  the  thundering  torrent,  could  be  cor- 
rectly tame? 

"  Have  you  not  enjoyed  the  delightful  evenings  of 
the  last  moon  ?  To  me  no  season  is  so  lovely,  no  hour 
so  enchanting,  no  scene  so  soothing,  as  a  moonlight 
stroll  in  the  country,  on  the  evening  of  a  sultry  day. 
The  heart  expands,  the  passions  sleep,  and  devotion, 
like  the  object  for  which  it  is  felt,  becomes  pure  and 
elevated. 

"Yes,  my  friend,  I  assign  to  Cowper  the  high  re- 
ward you  mention,  and  think,  with  Wilberforce,  he 
may  be  truly  called  the  Evangelical  Poet.  All  his 
productions  are  charming,  but  I  have  been  lately  ex- 
tremely delighted  with  his  address  to  his  mother's 
picture.  The  simple  pathos,  the  exquisite  touches  of 
filial  love  and  gratitude  it  contains,  and  the  tender- 
ness and  piety  of  the  concluding  sentiments,  render 
it  one  of  the  most  affecting  little  things  I  ever  read." 

From  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Lee  to  Mary  Van  Schalk- 
wyck: 

"Lancaster,  31st  July,  1803. 
"  What  is  society,  my  Friend  ?  Is  it  our  afternoon 
and  evening  circles  ?  You  are  more  fortunate  in  Con- 
cord than  elsewhere,  if  they  are  either  instructing  or 
agreeable.  But  I  must  confess  we  have  not  all  your 
talent  of  drawing  out  sense,  where  it  is  hid  either  by 

[139] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [ion 

timidity  or  reserve ;  for  my  part,  the  chief  I  hear  is 
sweetly  affected  monosyllables,  with  the  common- 
place phrases  of  ignorance  and  stupidity. 

"Are  not  the  Americans  generally  the  least  fitted, 
with  all  their  advantages,  to  add  a  zest  to  society, 
of  any  civilized  people  ?  They  have  now  every  aid, 
and  might,  with  attention,  be  as  pleasing  as  the  Euro- 
peans. I  am  sure  you  find  more  real  pleasure  from 
an  afternoon  spent  in  any  favourite  study,  than  weeks 
passed  in  the  common  routine  of  visiting.  Life  is 
short  and  uncertain ;  why  not  pursue  that  train  which 
most  conduces  to  our  real  satisfaction  ?  Why  waste 
life  in  false  parade,  or  still  more  tedious  female  so- 
ciety? 

"The  first  class,  although  possessed  of  every  ad- 
vantage, are  not  more  shining,  commonly,  than  the 
second.  They  feel  their  own  superiority  in  such  a 
manner  that,  even  if  they  have  knowledge,  it  is  too 
great  a  condescension  to  converse  with  those  who  are 
not  equals ;  for  (by  the  way),  I  really  think  there  is 
more  aristocracy  in  this  country  than  in  England; 
but,  too  frequently,  having  riches  at  command,  they 
think  it  not  necessary  to  make  those  exertions  of 
their  abilities  which  falls  to  the  share  of  those  who 
have  fame  alone  to  depend  upon. 

"The  second  ape  the  first  by  getting  a  smattering 
of  their  accomplishments,  without  the  ease  of  be- 
haviour which  makes  them  alone  interesting.  Their 
conversation  is  chiefly  novels  and  fashions,  for  their 
reading  never  extends  to  a  history. 

[140] 


1803]  CONCORD 

"The  last  and  lowest  are  too  frequently  vitiated, 
— the  country  in  as  great  a  degree  as  the  town, — so 
far  as  it  is  in  their  power  to  procure  these  pleasures 
and  dissipations.  The  greater  part  of  the  farmers  are 
very  avaricious,  and  totally  devoid  of  gratitude.  There 
are  undoubtedly  exceptions  in  every  class  of  life,  but 
of  these  it  is  difficult  to  distinguish,  and  we  must 
consequently  be  civil  to  those  who  will  despise  us 
when  our  dollars  cease  to  be. 

"  Have  you  yet  seen  Roscoe's '  Lorenzo  di  Medici '  ? 
I  don't  know  the  name,  but  think  I  should  like  to 
read  it." 

From  notes,  by  my  mother,  of  a  conversation  with 
Mr.  Frisbie: 

"'T  was  on  a  fine  evening,  which  had  succeeded  to 
a  sultry  day ;  the  moon,  near  her  full,  shone  brightly, 
the  air  was  soft  and  serene ;  all  was  silent,  except  the 
tree-toad  and  the  whip-poor-will.  We  were  seated  in 
the  entry.  The  beauty  of  the  scene  led  us,  involun- 
tarily, to  speak  of  Mrs.  Radcliffe's  descriptions.  He 
applauded  the  appropriate  elegance  of  her  style,  the 
frequent  beauty  of  her  scenery,  and  compared  the 
different  merits  of  her  novels.  He  thought  the  *  Si- 
cilian Romance'  a  well  executed  little  thing.  But,  to 
me,  he  appeared  to  give  the  preference,  all  points 
considered,  to  the  'Mysteries  of  Udolpho.'  He  ob- 
served, the  'Italian'  appeared  to  be  the  production 
of  one  who,  sensible  much  was  expected,  endeav- 
oured to  excel  herself,  and,  therefore,  failed  to  give 

[141] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IMS 

pleasure.  Characters  and  events  were,  in  general,  dis- 
torted, the  mind  was  kept  in  constant  torture,  and 
the  expectation  shockingly  disappointed."' 

To  Mrs.  Lee: 

"Concord,  July  27th,  1803. 

"Are  you  proof  against  this  series  of  unpleasant 
weather  ?  Or  does  it  depress  even  your  philosophical 
temper  ?  I  well  remember  to  have  felt  deeply  morti- 
fied when  I  first  was  compelled  to  acknowledge  the 
influence  of  weather  on  the  mind.  I  wished  to  be- 
lieve mind  more  independent  of  matter  than  experi- 
ence proved  it  to  be.  But,  after  having  been  convinced 
the  spirits  may  be  affected  by  a  south-east  wind,  and 
the  powers  of  the  mind  debilitated  by  illness  of  body, 
I  have  learned  to  consider  firm  nerves,  and  perfect 
health,  as  blessings  to  be  ranked  next  to  peace  of 
conscience ;  and  to  think  with  the  Poet, 

'Let  health  my  nerves  and  finer  fibres  brace, 
And  I  their  toys  to  the  great  children  leave.' 

And  this  I  have  enjoyed  in  an  uncommon  degree, 
particularly  the  last  six  months.  Lest  I  should  for- 
get its  value,  I  endeavour  frequently  to  recollect  the 
agonizing  pain,  and  the  yet  more  distressing  debility 
of  disease.  The  recollection  of  many  species  of  mis- 
fortune enhances  the  value,  and  adds  a  zest  to  the 
enjoyment  of  prosperity:  for  instance,  sickness,  pov- 
erty, and  danger.  But  the  remembrance  of  any  real 
good  lost  to  us  always  creates  pain.  Does  it  not?" 

[142] 


1803]  CONCORD 

To  Ann  Bromfield: 

"August  2nd,  1803. 

"Your  kind  reproaches  have  roused  me  like  an 
electric  shock  from  the  languor  to  which  I  was  yield- 
ing, in  consequence  of  having  passed  a  sleepless 
night. 

"  How  sweet  was  the  return  of  sunshine  after  the 
unpleasant  weather  we  experienced  last  week.  I  never 
hailed  the  golden  rays  of  the  setting  sun  with  more 
cordiality  than  on  Friday.  The  appearance  was  cheer- 
ing as  the  face  of  a  friend  when  the  heart  is  sad.  Did 
you  not  observe,  dear  Ann,  the  fine  effect  produced 
by  the  yellow  beams  brightening  the  verdure  of  veg- 
etation, tinting  with  various  hues  the  west,  while  the 
black  clouds  of  the  east  seemed  frowning  on  the 
scene,  and  night  strove  with  day  for  victory?" 

In  a  letter  to  Miss  Bromfield  of  later  date,  my 
mother  says,  "  I  shall  be  ere  long  with  Mrs.  Lee,  who 
has  been  dangerously  ill  with  the  malignant  sore 
throat,  as  have  also  her  son,  and  brother." 

To  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Lee: 

"Concord,  Sept  3rd,  1803. 

"Mrs.  Clarke  informed  me  you  were  so  far  con- 
valescent as  to  take  the  air,  and  that  Thomas  was 
much  better ;  she  told  me  also  you  were  attended  by 
very  good  friends.  Probably,  your  aunt  and  cousin 
will  not  remain  more  than  a  fortnight  with  you. 

[143] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isos 

When  they  quit  Lancaster,  you  will,  I  hope,  accept 
one  who,  though  she  cannot  pretend  to  great  merit, 
will  endeavour  to  find  stories  and  plays  for  Thomas, 
and  cheerfulness  for  his  mother.  I  am  so  daring,  I  do 
not  despair  of  gaining  the  heart  of  your  son.  I  shall 
endeavour  not  to  appear  more  than  six  years  old,  in 
which  I  but  follow  the  example  of  many  a  venerable 
predecessor,  who  strives  to  sink  from  sixty  to  sixteen, 
— like  me,  with  the  intention  of  winning  the  admi- 
ration of  some  young  beau.  Every  one  does  not,  like 
me,  avow  their  intentions,  it  is  true ;  and  I  hope  you 
will,  at  least,  grant  me  to  be  frank." 

To  Ruth  Hurd,  in  reply  to  a  request  from  her  that 
my  mother  would  point  out  to  her  her  faults: 

"Concord,  Sept.  15th,  1803. 

"You  reproach  me  delicately  for  passing  over  a 
request  that  was  urged  most  sweetly  by  you.  I  shall 
not,  dear  Ruth,  make  use  of  the  absurd  and  common- 
place compliment,  *  You  are  faultless.'  What  mortal 
can  lay  claim  to  it  ?  Who  is  exempt  from  the  frail- 
ties of  humanity?  Nor  can  I  attempt  to  correct  one 
who  appears  to  me  far  less  imperfect  than  myself. 
We  are  both  naturally  weak  and  liable  to  err, — both 
blest  with  reason  and  revelation  to  guide  and  fortify 
us.  We  can  be,  at  best,  but  imperfect  judges  of  each 
other's  character:  actions  and  words  lie,  indeed,  open 
to  human  inspection,  but  motives  can  be  correctly 
known  only  to  ourselves,  and  to  that  Omniscient 
Power  who  is  'near,  though  remote,  and,  though  un- 

[144] 


1803]  CONCORD 

fathomed,  felt;  and,  though  invisible,  forever  seen.' 
It  is,  I  believe,  by  analyzing  the  secret  springs  of  ac- 
tion, by  never  suffering  ourselves  to  think,  'I  did 
thus,'  but  'why  did  I  thus?'  that  we  shall  acquire  a 
knowledge  of  our  real  characters.  That  knowledge 
will,  indeed,  inspire  humility,  but  humility,  we  are 
told,  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom. 

"You  are  right,  my  dear  Ruth,  in  calling  Mr. 
Knapp  and  Mr.  Frisbie  two  of  my  'greatest  favour- 
ites.' I  have  some  personal  acquaintance  with  the 
former,  much  with  the  latter:  both  have  ensured  my 
respect  and  esteem.  Of  Mr.  Frisbie  (whom  I  have 
known  intimately  many  months),  I  can  say,  with 
the  greatest  confidence,  his  talents,  which  are  cer- 
tainly uncommon,  equal  not  his  virtues.  He  quits 
town  this  week,  and  will  be  long  and  sincerely  re- 
gretted. For  myself,  I  confess  I  think  the  society  of 
such  a  man  an  inestimable  privilege,  and  his  conver- 
sation more  improving  than  the  perusal  of  a  library. 
You  know,  however,  my  partiality  for  conversation : 
it  appears  to  me  better  calculated  to  correct  our 
opinions,  and  strengthen  our  minds,  than  mere  study. 
They  do  indeed  reflect  mutual  advantage  and  pleas- 
ure on  each  other ;  but,  in  conversation  our  minds  act 
far  more  decidedly,  and  independently,  than  when 
reading. 

"  Write  me  soon,  I  entreat  you.  Inform  me  if  you 
have  seen  any  new  publications,  if  you  have  been 
introduced  to  any  new  characters,  or  if  anything  in- 
teresting has  occurred  to  you." 

[145] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

To  Ann  Bromfield: 

"  Concord,  Sept.  24th,  1803. 

"Friday  afternoon.  I  had  half  filled  a  sheet,  in 
spirits, — the  consequence  of  my  pleasant  little  visit 
to  Billerica, — was  preparing  to  conclude  and  seal  it, 
when  I  was  called  from  my  pen  by  company, — and 
now,  dear  Ann,  so  miserably  devoid  of  animation  am 
I, — so  completely  in  the  penseroso  mood, — that, 
though  I  can  not  boast  any  other  merit,  that  of  con- 
sistency shall,  at  least,  be  mine.  I  will  not  send  you 
so  motley  a  piece  of  composition  as  my  former  and 
present  epistles  would  present,  but  shall  throw  my- 
self on  your  mercy,  and  entreat  you  to  prepare  to 
meet,  with  patient  endurance,  three  pages  of  melan- 
choly dulness. 

"  One  would  think  the  enchanting  appearance  of 
nature  sufficient  to  correct  every  propensity  to  sad- 
ness, and  to  inspire  cheerfulness  and  joy  in  every 
bosom.  The  sun  shines  brightly,  a  clear  and  bracing 
air  invigorates  the  system,  Heaven  and  earth  smile, 
I  am  addressing  a  friend  who,  I  trust,  reciprocates 
the  kind  and  affectionate  feelings  of  my  heart, — if 
I  were  not  incorrigible,  so  many  images  of  delight 
would  chase  far  away  corroding  melancholy.  Sev- 
eral causes  have,  of  late,  combined  to  depress  me. 
The  season,  though  my  favourite  one,  awakens  pain- 
ful recollections,  the  indisposition,  the  serious  indis- 
position, bodily  and  mental,  of  our  friend ,  and  a 

separation  which,  this  week,  took  place  between  Mr. 
Frisbie  and  his  Concord  friends.  In  parting  with  this 

[146] 


1803]  CONCORD 

truly  estimable  and  interesting  young  man,  we  feel 
the  most  sincere  regret.  We  have  lost,  not  a  mere 
acquaintance,  but  a  most  valuable  friend. 

"Were  I  not  unwilling  to  speak  of  your  lovely 
friend  Susan  with  my  present  feelings,  I  could  ex- 
patiate on  the  admiration  with  which  she  inspired 
me.  I  feel  an  ardent  wish  to  cultivate  an  acquaint- 
ance with  her, — a  wish  unchecked  by  any  senti- 
ment, except  the  fear  of  disappointing  her  in  the 
expectation  she  would  form  of  one  distinguished  by 
your  partiality. 

"Present  to  your  excellent  mother  an  assurance 
of  my  respectful  remembrance.  I  am  desirous,  more 
so  than  I  can  express,  to  see  more  of  her.  Her  very 
glance  imparts  a  portion  of  that  purity  and  benev- 
olence which  distinguish  her.  Do  you  not  think  there 
is  an  emanation  from  the  souls  of  the  good,  which 
improves  all  who  come  within  the  sphere  of  their 
attraction  ? " 

To  the  same: 

.  f,.::  "Concord,  October  22nd,  1803. 

"The  'Lounger'  I  have  in  vain  attempted  to  pro- 
cure. It  is  to  be  met  with  only  at  the  Boston  Li- 
brary, and,  as  my  name  is  not  among  subscribers,  I 
could  not  hire  it  from  thence.  I  am  resolved,  on 
your  recommendation,  to  own  it  ere  long,  and  have 
with  care  preserved  the  numbers  you  kindly  minuted 
for  me. 

"  Have  you  seen  Klopstock's '  Messiah '  ?  I  have  this 

[147] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [i«n 

week  been  perusing  it;  and,  though  the  great  vari- 
ety of  characters  introduced  sometimes  render  it 
confused,  yet,  on  the  whole,  I  think  it  calculated  to 
produce  a  most  happy  effect.  Several  descriptions 
of  the  angelic  host  are  inimitably  beautiful.  I  am 
now  writing  by  the  light  of  a  candle  for  the  second 
or  third  time  these  twelvemonths.  I  dare  try  the 
experiment  no  longer,  but  most  affectionately  bid 
you  Good-night." 

To  Ruth  Hurd: 

"Concord,  November  7th,  1803. 
"Miss  H.  (shall  I  call  her  your  friend,  or  your  in- 
teresting acquaintance?)  has  probably  left  Charles- 
town.  She  is  a  very  striking  proof  that  'seventeen 
years  is  as  unfit  to  go  alone  in  the  world,  as  seven- 
teen weeks  in  the  nursery.'  With  the  very  virtues 
and  graces  of  extreme  youth,  are  connected  dangers 
and  mortifications ;  nor  did  I  ever  know  a  young  per- 
son, on  their  first  entrance  into  life,  unless  shielded 
by  a  sensitive  delicacy,  such  as  few  indeed  possess, 
or  by  a  disposition  naturally  cold  and  insensible,  who 
did  not  expose  themselves  to  mortification,  if  not 
to  censure." 

To  Ann  Bromfield: 

"Concord,  Nov.  22nd,  1803. 
"This  day,  probably,  will  see  my  dear  Ann  de- 
part from  scenes  rendered  dear  by  long  acquaint- 
ance.  The  constantly  unpleasant  weather  of  the 

[148] 


1803]  CONCORD 

last  week  rendered  it  impossible,  in  Mamma's  opin- 
ion, to  visit  Billerica,  though  my  heart  was  often 
with  you.  This  day,  the  first  in  which  all  things, 
even  the  attendance  of  a  Beau  (which  in  a  village 
like  this  is  an  animal  of  wondrous  rarity,  and  con- 
sequently great  importance),  are  propitious  to  my 
wishes,  this  day  is  just  one  too  late.  I  had  so  much 
to  say  to  you — how  poor  is  paper  conversation  I  Do 
you  not  think  more  may  be  expressed  in  one  con- 
versation, where  the  tone  of  voice,  and  stamp  of 
countenance  'comes  from  the  heart,  and  reaches  the 
heart,'  than  in  ten  epistles,  even  the  most  flowing 
and  unreserved?  I  recollect  you  objected  to  the  dan- 
ger attending  an  epistolary  intercourse  between  the 
sexes.  Is  there  not  more, — far  more, — peril  in  fa- 
miliar conversation  with  a  man  of  taste  and  feeling, 
than  can  possibly  be  found  in  a  correspondence? 
Yes,  surely,  my  dear  Ann,  to  judge  only  by  what  I 
feel  for  you,  I  should  pronounce  decidedly  so.  When 
I  have  passed  an  hour  or  an  half-hour  with  you,  I 
receive  and  communicate  more  than  it  would  be  pos- 
sible to  express  by  pen ;  and  it  is  the  recollection  of 
what  I  heard  and  saw  at  the  interview,  that  renders 
the  letters  I  receive  or  write  doubly  interesting  to 
my  feelings.  It  was  not,  however,  my  intention  to 
quarrel  with  this  best  substitute  for  conversation ;  I 
acknowledge  with  gratitude  the  delight  it  procures 
me.  My  intention,  at  first,  was  simply  to  express  my 
regret  and  dissatisfaction  that,  for  months,  inter- 
course by  way  of  letter  was  all  I  might  hope  for,  and 

[149] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

that  the  greater  pleasure  I  anticipated  in  seeing  you 
must  be  relinquished  for  the  lesser  one  of  writing  to 
you.  My  disappointment  is  at  this  time  the  greater 
that  Miss  Lowell,  in  whom  I  feel  an  animated  inter- 
est, has  been  your  companion.  I  had  determined,  too, 
to  carry  the  'Lounger'  with  me,  and  to  read,  with 
you  and  your  lovely  friend,  the  numbers  most  stri- 
kingly delightful." 

To  Mrs.  Lee: 

"Concord,  Nov.  26th,  1803. 

"  Your  very  friendly  and  characteristic  invitation, 
my  dear  Eliza,  would  be  instantly  accepted,  was  in- 
clination solely  consulted.  Not,  indeed,  for  the  pe- 
rusal of  the  'interesting  French  novel,'  but  for  the 
rational  satisfaction  I  have  ever  found  at  Lee  man- 
sion, in  the  society  of  my  friend. 

"Have  you  ever  seen  a  paper  published  at  New- 
bury  Port,  entitled  the  'Repertory'?  If  so,  have  you 
not  been  enchanted  with  'The  British  Spy'?  The 
second  number  where  is  drawn  the  picture  of  a 
blind  and  aged  minister  administering  the  sacrament 
of  the  Supper  is,  for  pathos  and  sublimity  of  descrip- 
tion, inimitable.  The  author  appears  to  lay  as  much 
stress  on  manner  and  form  in  devotion  as  in  the  or- 
dinary pursuits  of  life,  where  we  know  them  to  be 
essential.  He  thinks  it  impossible  a  preacher  should 
warm  the  hearts  and  elevate  the  souls  of  his  audi- 
tors, if  his  unimpassioned  manner,  and  uniform,  un- 
interested, uninteresting,  voice,  implicitly  declare  he 

[150] 


1803]  CONCORD 

either  believes  not  or  feels  not  the  truth  he  inculcates. 
Do  you  not  think  he  is  right?  Sometimes,  when  at- 
tending to  a  discourse  on  the  most  affecting  subjects, 
the  lines  of  Shakspeare  occur  to  my  mind  with  force : 

'Pleads  he  in  earnest, —  look  upon  his  face, 

' His  eyes  do  drop  no  tears,  his  prayers  are  jest; 

'His  words  come  from  his  mouth. — 

'He  prays  but  faintly,  and  would  be  denied.' 

"Make  acceptable  to  Captain  Lee  the  compli- 
ments of  one  who  has  most  sincerely  rejoiced  in  his 
return  to  his  country,  and  his  restoration  to  the  bosom 
of  his  family." 

The  following,  though  without  address,  I  suppose 
to  be  written  to  Mr.  Rockwood : 

"Concord,  Nov.  29th,  1803. 

"  How  preeminently  attractive  are  piety  and  vir- 
tue, adorned  by  grace  and  sweetness !  I,  last  evening, 
gave  a  delighted  assent  to  this  truth,  for,  last  eve- 
ning, I  saw  and  listened  to  Mr.  Harris  of  Dorches- 
ter. The  sanctity,  the  modest  gentleness,  of  his  man- 
ners, the  sensibility  of  heart  which  animated  his  coun- 
tenance, and  gave  pathos  to  his  voice,  brought  to  my 
mind  the  beloved  Disciple.  I  cannot  but  believe,  so 
thought  and  felt,  so  spake  and  looked,  John.  This 
truly  good  and  interesting  man  has  lately  returned 
from  an  excursion  to  the  Western  Territory,  where 
he  went  in  pursuit  of  health.  He  entertained  us  with 
a  description  of  that  beautiful,  but  almost  unknown 

[151] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

part  of  the  country.  He  expatiated  on  the  mildness 
of  the  climate,  the  exuberance  of  vegetation,  and  the 
balmy  fragrance  of  the  air,  with  the  imagination  of 
the  poet,  and  the  taste  of  the  painter.  He  then  pre- 
sented us  with  scenes  yet  more  interesting,  nearer 
home,  and  gave  us  a  particular  account  of  the  soci- 
ety of  Moravians  at  Bethlehem,  Pennsylvania.  With 
so  happy  a  pencil  did  he  sketch  the  place,  its  inhab- 
itants, their  primeval  manners,  pure,  simple,  affec- 
tionate, the  admirable  regulation  of  their  time,  the 
striking  and  affecting  forms  of  their  devotion, — that 
I  could  not  but  wish  I  had  been  born  one  of  the  com- 
munity. And,  surely,  no  mode  of  life  can  be  more 
pleasant  or  improving. 

"In  our  present  weak,  imperfect  state,  we  feel  the 
necessity  of  forms.  By  them  the  ardour  of  devotion 
is  preserved,  and  the  obligations  of  morality  strength- 
ened. A  society,  therefore,  united  by  mutual  vows, 
regulated  by  rules  prescribed  by  wisdom  and  good- 
ness, must  have  a  greater  probability  of  enjoying 
calm  felicity  here,  and  superior  bliss  hereafter ;  every 
hour  appropriated  to  the  fulfilment  of  duty,  every 
duty,  the  parent  of  peace.  Here,  all  the  advantages 
of  solitude  may  be  found  without  its  disadvantages. 
Its  members  cannot  be  called  useless  or  selfish,  since 
much  of  their  time  is  devoted  to  the  education  of 
youth,  and  much  of  their  income  to  the  propagation 
of  the  divine  truths  of  Christianity.  I  cannot,  indeed, 
believe  the  world,  with  all  its  alluring  pleasures,  of- 
fers anything  that  can  be  really  a  counterpoise  to  the 

[152] 


1803]  CONCORD 

tranquil,  uniform  peace  which  must  be  the  result  of 
such  a  life." 

Among  my  mother's  papers  of  this  period  I  find 
a  letter  to  her  from  the  brother  of  a  friend  of  hers, 
which  is  valuable  as  giving  a  view  of  her  power  of 
sympathy,  and  of  what  she  was  to  her  friends  under 
circumstances  of  trial  and  suffering.  Especially  do  I 
value  it  because  it  reminds  me  so  strongly  of  rny 
sister,1  who  inherited  with  her  mother's  name  so 
many  of  her  gifts  of  intellect  and  heart,  and  of  whom 
it  was  said,  after  her  death,  "  It  was  in  the  highest 
offices  of  administering  consolation  and  counsel  in 
times  of  affliction  and  distress  that  she  found  her  fit- 
test sphere." 

"Boston,  Dec.  29th,  1803. 

"Dear  Madam, — The  subject  of  which  I  am  to 
treat  I  trust  will  be  my  sufficient  apology  for  this 
liberty,  but,  were  it  necessary  to  preface  it  with  fur- 
ther excuse,  I  should  find  a  justification  in  the  uni- 
formity of  your  attachment  and  friendship  for  my 
excellent  sister.  I  am  not  unacquainted  with  your 
kind  attention  to  her  during  the  most  trying  scenes 
of  difficulty.  You  extended  the  true  and  steady  arm 
of  friendship  and  supported  her,  you  soothed  her  with 
the  sweetest  consolations,  and  lulled  her  heart  to 
rest." 

Two  days  later  my  mother  and  Miss  Atherton 

1  Mrs.  Mary  Wilder  Foote.  —  En. 

[153] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [iaos 

together  wrote  to  Mrs.  Lee.  I  copy  one  paragraph 
from  Miss  Atherton: 

"Concord,  Dec.  31st,  1803. 

"  I  have  passed  this  week  with  our  loved  Mary.  1 
met  her  in  health  and  cheerfulness,  and  still  that 
wonderful  being  who  fascinates  all  hearts !  In  a  world 
like  this,  how  estimable  to  find  a  soul  so  pure." 

Miss  Atherton's  enthusiasm  in  speaking  of  my 
mother  naturally  suggests  the  question,  How  did  this 
"wonderful  being,  who  fascinated  all  hearts,"  pass 
unscathed  through  the  ordeal  of  flattered  self-love, 
to  which  we  feel  sure  her  extraordinary  personal  and 
mental  charms  must  have  exposed  her?  We  find  an 
answer  to  this  question  in  the  following  records, 
which,  though  without  date,  bear  evidence  of  having 
been  made  by  her  during  this  period  of  her  life : 

"  Is  it  possible !  Can  the  vain  conversation,  the  flat- 
tery and  attention  of  beings  weak  and  erring  as  my- 
self, introduce  disorder  into  my  mind,  and  estrange 
my  heart  from  Him  whose  love,  whose  wisdom, 
whose  perfections,  alone  are  infinite?  With  such 
weakness,  can  I  hazard  a  residence  in  the  world  ?  Can 
I  voluntarily  enter  society  when  I  feel  its  fascina- 
tions to  be  poisonous  ?  And  yet,  if  I  retreat  to  soli- 
tude, am  I  more  pleasing  in  the  view  of  the  Creator, 
who  hath  formed  me  for  active  benevolence,  for  prac- 
tical piety?  Do  not  vain  imaginations  pursue  me 
there,  does  not  indolence  steal  over  me,  and  timidly 

[154] 


1803]  CONCORD 

dissuade  me  from  exertion?  What  is  the  result  of 
this  experience  ? '  The  good  which  I  would,  I  do  not ; 
the  evil  I  would  not,  that  I  do.'  I  err,  and  that  con- 
tinually." 

Again  she  writes: 

"A  combination  of  circumstances  invigorated  the 
serpents  of  pride  and  vanity.  They  were  sustained  by 
my  own  foolish  thoughts  and  vain  imaginations.  God, 
by  revealing  to  my  view  the  recesses  of  my  heart, 
saddened  and  humbled  it.  Yes,  this  is  evidently  the 
goodness  of  God,  for  no  exterior  circumstance,  no 
mortification,  or  disappointment,  has  disgusted  me 
with  the  world  and  with  myself,  and  has  made  me  to 
feel  that  'all  is  vanity  below  the  skies.' 

"'O  Thou,  the  Source  and  Centre  of  all  souls, 
Their  only  point  of  rest,  Eternal  Mind ! 
Give  what  Thou  canst,  without  Thee  we  are  poor, 
And  with  Thee  rich,  take  what  Thou  wilt  away.' 

'"I  hate  vain  thoughts,'  yet  am  continually  a  prey 
to  them.  Of  this  precious  time  on  which  Eternity 
depends,  how  inconsiderable  a  portion  is  devoted  to 
the  only  object  worthy  attention.  Even  the  hours 
spent  in  devotional  reading  and  prayer  are  of  little 
worth,  unless  the  soul  be  engaged.  Yes,  saintly  Mas- 
sillon,  thou  wert  inspired  by  the  Spirit  of  Truth, 
when  thou  didst  declare  the  pursuit  of  wealth  and 
fame  and  science  was  'time  lost  for  eternity,'  unless 

[155] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

they  are  rendered  subservient  to  the  love  of  God, 
and  the  real  happiness  of  His  creatures. 

"  How  ennobling  the  idea !  God  has  willed  my  ex- 
istence !  From  eternity  this  being  so  frail,  so  erring, 
was  foreseen,  foreordained  by  Him  who  is. 

"Continual  company  and  excessive  heat.  How 
fatal  to  improvement!  A  short  proportion  of  each 
day  devoted  to  happier  purposes  is  almost  the  only 
part  of  the  week  on  which  I  reflect  with  pleasure." 

On  another  page  she  writes: 

"'No  one,  however  holy  his  life  has  been,  should 
venture  to  die  in  any  other  state  than  that  of  a  peni- 
tent,' says  St.  Augustine.  No  one  who  has  a  glimpse 
of  human  depravity  can  venture  to  live  in  any  other 
state.  I  say  not  how  imperfect  are  my  best  actions ! 
but  confess  that  even  the  performance  of  religious 
duties  is  often  but  specious  sin.  What  wanderings 
of  imagination,  what  intrusions  of  worldly  thoughts 
and  passions,  what  pride  and  vanity! 

"Gracious  and  Holy  Father!  I  desire  renewedly 
to  dedicate  myself  to  Thee.  I  desire  to  dedicate  all 
my  powers  and  faculties  to  Thy  service,  and  fer- 
vently invoke  the  aid  of  Thy  divine  Spirit  to  en- 
lighten and  strengthen  me  in  the  performance  of 
duty.  Oh,  guide,  sustain  and  bless  me,  a  sinner,  for 
the  sake  of  Jesus  Christ.  Amen." 

[156] 


CHAPTER  VII 

1804 
CONCORD :  MISS  SUSAN  LOWELL;  DIARY 

THE  year  1804  opens  with  the  following  from 
my  grandmother's  pen.  It  shows,  as  do  other 
records,  how  much  the  mother  and  daughter  were 
alike  in  their  religious  habit  of  mind. 

"An  introduction  to  the  year  1804  is  an  era  which 
I  had  very  little  expectation  of  arriving  to.  What 
then  shall  I  render  to  Him  who  has  not  only  granted 
me  time  to  be  useful  to  my  family,  and  has  show- 
ered down  blessings  on  me,  but,  above  all,  has  made 
me  more  sensible  of  His  love  and  tenderness  ?  Surely, 
what  remains  of  life  I,  willingly  and  with  ardent  de- 
sire, would  wish  to  dedicate  to  Him,  adoring  Him 
as  the  Author  of  all  good  from  my  youth  to  the 
present  moment. 

"Thou,  O  God,  hast  appeared  for  me  in  dangers, 
in  afflictions,  in  sickness,  and  health.  When  human 
aid  failed,  Thou  hast  been  my  guardian  and  friend. 
I  confess  my  unworthiness.  Humbled  in  the  dust, 
would  I  beg  Thy  pardoning  mercy.  Forgive  me,  O 
God,  for  against  Thee  have  I  sinned.  But,  through 
the  mediation  of  my  Saviour,  will  I  lay  hold  on  Thy 
gracious  promises.  Withhold  not  Thy  protection! 
Save  me  from  the  consequences  of  my  sins,  and, 

[W] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [ISM 

when  life  shall  cease,  wilt  Thou  crown  me  with  ever- 
lasting felicity  in  Thy  presence! 

"May  I  never,  while  life  shall  last,  forget  Thy 
goodness  in  restoring  my  only  child.  Most  merciful 
Father,  bless  her  with  the  communications  of  Thy 
Holy  Spirit,  guide  her  in  the  paths  of  religion,  suc- 
cour her  when  tempted,  preserve  her  when  distressed. 
Through  every  change,  in  every  scene,  uphold  her 
by  Thine  Almighty  power,  secure  her  by  Thine  all- 
powerful  arm.  Bless  her,  O  God,  and  she  shall  be 
blest." 

The  earliest  date  of  this  new  year  we  find  from  my 
mother  is  the  following  letter  to  Miss  Emerson: 

"Concord,  Jan.  7th,  1804. 

"My  dear  Miss  Emerson  will  treat  my  long  si- 
lence with  the  same  indulgence  she  claimed  for  her- 
self, at  the  commencement  of  our  correspondence. 
She  will  attribute  it  to  the  combination  of  circum- 
stances, apparently  trifling  when  separately  consid- 
ered, but,  united,  of  sufficient  weight  to  make  my 
conduct  the  reverse  of  what  I  intended  it  should  be 
when  I  received  her  letter. 

"I  confess  I  cannot  perfectly  subscribe  to  your 
opinion  respecting  novels ;  and,  probably,  I  am,  at 
present,  more  pertinaciously  attached  to  my  own, 
by  the  recent  perusal  of  'A  Tale  of  the  Times,'  by 
Mrs.  West, — a  work,  the  product  of  handsome  tal- 
ents, and  upright  intentions.  The  author's  aim  is  to 
display  the  terrific  tendency  of  the  new  Philosophy, 

[158] 


1804]  CONCORD 

and  I  think  she  has  succeeded  far  better  than  any 
of  her  predecessors.  If  you  have  not  seen  it,  I  think 
it  will  yield  you  some  hours'  amusement,  if  you  can 
condescend  to  be  amused. 

"As  you  kindly  consented  to  hear  from  me  an  ac- 
count of  the  books  by  which  my  attention  was  most 
engaged,  I  will  mention  Johnson's  'Lives  of  the 
Poets,'  which  has  very  much  interested  me  of  late. 
Am  I  censurable,  however,  in  declaring  I  think,  as 
a  biographer,  Johnson  causes  incomparably  more 
pain  than  pleasure?  He  viewed  man  with  a  critic's 
eye,  and,  by  a  too  minute  attention  to  blemishes, 
has  cast  a  chilling  damp  on  the  pleasure  attendant 
on  a  perusal  of  the  Poets.  Perhaps  his  criticism  on 
the  poet  was  just,  but,  surely,  he  might  have  exer- 
cised more  candour  on  the  man." 

We  have  next  a  letter  from  my  grandmother.  My 
mother  was  then  visiting  her  friends  at  Elm  Hill, 
Lancaster.  In  it  she  urges  my  mother's  return  as  fol- 
lows :  "  If  you  should  have  an  opportunity  to  return, 
I  wish  you  would  embrace  it,  as  you  are  very  dear 
to  the  hearts  of  your  parents.  Your  Papa  says, '  Tell 
that  little  one  I  wish  she  was  at  home,  as  I  want  her 
to  talk  with.'" 

The  following  letter  from  my  mother  is  doubtless 
to  Mr.  Rockwood: 

"Concord,  Jan.  28,  1804. 

"  How  has  the  bitterness  of  Winter  passed  with 
you  ?  It  appears  to  me  I  never  knew  a  colder.  I  have 

[159] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [ISM 

read  Thomson  and  Cowper  again  and  again,  with  the 
laudable  determination  to  persuade  myself  Winter 
was  the  season  of  sublime  emotion,  and  social  enjoy- 
ment. W^ith  Thomson,  I  listened  to  the  driving  tem- 
pest, and  endeavoured  to  enjoy  its  horrors;  with 
Cowper,  I  drew  near  the  cheerful  fire-side,  and  tasted 
the  delights  of  friendly  converse,  but  it  would  not 
do ;  when  the  door  opened,  I  shuddered  with  cold, 
and  paid  involuntary  homage  to  milder  seasons.  I 
acknowledge,  however,  Winter  is  not  destitute  of 
beauty,  or  pleasure.  A  landscape,  even  in  January, 
may  have  many  charms,  and  a  party  of  rational 
friends  may  find  a  tolerable  degree  of  happiness  even 
in  Greenland.  It  were  well  for  us  if  we  were  disposed 
to  see  and  improve  the  advantages  of  every  situation 
in  which  we  are  placed;  some  peculiar  good  is  at- 
tached to  every  season  and  every  state,  and  it  is  our 
own  fault  if  we  do  not  extract  good  even  from  evil 
"Your  observations, — I  should  rather  say,  your 
criticism — on  Salem,  amused  me  by  the  poignancy 
of  the  satire,  but,  on  a  re-perusal,  drew  a  sigh  from 
my  heart.  If  your  picture  be  just,  alas!  for  degraded 
humanity!  Is  there  a  propensity  in  the  heart  of  man 
more  destructive  to  his  nobler  feelings,  more  deadly 
in  its  effects,  than  the  love  of  money  ?  Does  it  not 
gradually  annihilate  his  moral  sensibility,  and  leave 
him  nothing  of  humanity  except  the  form  ?  In  woman, 
its  deformity  is  yet  more  frightful,  as,  from  her  sit- 
uation, she  is  less  exposed  to  its  power.  I  believe  her 
very  nature  is  more  delicate,  more  tender  and  gen- 

[160] 


1804]  CONCORD 

erous.  When,  therefore,  she  violates  the  first  prin- 
ciples of  her  being,  when  she  becomes  rapacious,  ob- 
durate, and  icy-souled,  she  is  a  monster — a  very 
monster. 

"  Do  you  not  think  of  returning  to  Charlestown 
ere  long?  I  Ve  been  assured  it  is  at  present  uncom- 
monly brilliant.  Balls  have  taken  place  of  the  Assem- 
blies, and  the  Beaux  and  Belles  are  preparing  to  trip 
gaily  'on  the  light  fantastic  toe,'  Tuesday  sennight." 

To  Ann  Bromfield: 

"Concord,  Feb.  2,  1804. 

"  My  heart  is  not  in  fault,  my  dear  Ann,  that  you 
have  not  sooner  received  an  answer  to  your  charm- 
ing New  Year's  letter.  Circumstances  unexpectedly 
led  me  to  Lancaster  the  week  I  received  it,  and  the 
kindness  of  my  amiable  friends  detained  me  there 
three  weeks.  I  thought,  frequently,  of  addressing  you 
from  the  bosom  of  my  dear  native  village,  but  the 
bitterness  of  bitter  January  prevented  writing  in  my 
chamber,  and,  you  know,  letter- writing  is  not  per- 
fectly consonant  with  the  sociability  of  a  family 
party. 

"Alas!  yes, — New  Year's  day,  though  fraught 
with  much  of  pleasure,  though  abounding  with  much 
of  mirth  and  joyous  festivity,  has  long  been  to  me 
one  of  the  most  interesting  monitors.  It  seems  a  new 
epoch  in  life,  a  commencement  of  being ;  and  is  sur- 
passed only  by  the  thirty-first  of  December.  Did  you 
ever,  since  you  began  to  realize  yourself  a  rational 

[161] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IBM 

and  immortal  being,  close  the  year  without  mortify- 
ing reflections  on  the  trifling  improvement  so  con- 
siderable a  proportion  of  life  had  produced,  without 
gratitude  for  the  beneficence  with  which  it  was 
crowned,  and  resolutions  to  merit  better  that  ben- 
eficence in  future?  I  ever  feel  regret  and  deep  dis- 
satisfaction when  prevented  passing  the  last  evening 
of  the  year  in  absolute  retirement.  I  seem  to  have 
lost  what  can  never  be  retrieved. 

"I  think  at  present  I  shall  not  see  Charlestown 
till  the  Spring  opens.  I  cannot  write  the  name  of  that 
charming  season  without  feeling  a  disposition  to  ex- 
patiate on  its  praise,  especially  after  having  shud- 
dered beneath  the  rigorous  reign  of  the  coldest  Win- 
ter I  remember  to  have  felt  for  many  years.  I  am  sure 
Winter  has  no  effect  on  the  heart,  but  I  do  not  know 
with  certainty  that  the  mind  is  wholly  independent. 
What  think  you?" 

To  Mrs.  Lee: 

"Concord,  February  7th,  1804. 

"  I  am  reading  Denon's  'Tour  in  Upper  Egypt, 'and 
find  it  very  entertaining  in  general,  extremely  inter- 
esting in  some  passages.  The  writer  is  not  only  a  man 
of  observation,  but  of  great  sensibility. 

"Will  you  oblige  me  by  sending  the  minutes  of 
the  passage  of  the  English  army  over  the  Desert?  I 
will  not  trouble  you  to  write  the  whole,  only  the 
length  of  the  march,  the  degree  of  heat,  and  the  time 
spent  in  making  it." 

[162] 


1804]  CONCORD 

To  Ruth  Kurd: 

"Concord,  Feb.  8th,  1804. 

"  Don't  you  think  the  present  temperature  of  the 
air  very  unpleasant?  Did  I  not  hail  the  southern 
breezes  as  the  harbingers  of  Spring,  I  should  acknowl- 
edge the  severer,  but  the  more  bracing  air  of  the  west 
was  more  welcome.  I  love  the  milder  seasons  ex- 
tremely ;  but,  in  Winter,  I  dread  a  warm  breeze  which 
dissolves  the  snow,  destroys  the  elasticity  of  the  air, 
and,  of  course,  produces  a  languid,  inactive  tone  of 
spirits.  There  are  few  things  which  teach  us  humility 
more  forcibly  than  this  dependence  on  the  weather. 
We  are  compelled  to  admit  the  astonishingly  inti- 
mate union  between  spirit  and  matter. 

"You  are  very  brilliant  in  Charlestown,  I  am  told. 
Has  the  Winter  passed  with  you  more  happily  than 
usual  ?  I  think  you  must  derive  pleasure  from  occa- 
sionally visiting  the  theatre,  where,  't  is  said,  the  per- 
formances are  uncommonly  good.  I  have  heard  much 
of  Bernard.  What  is  his  style  of  acting  ? " 

Miss  Bromfield  was  at  this  time  visiting,  in 
Charlestown,  her  friend  Miss  Lowell,  and  my  moth- 
er, soon  after  this  letter,  herself  made  a  visit  in  that 
town.  I  find  among  her  papers  a  letter  from  her  step- 
sister Sally  Hurd,  addressed  to  her  at  Charlestown, 
and  dated: 

"Concord,  March  10th,  1804. 
"  I  may  have  appeared  inattentive  in  not  writing 
before,  but  I  assure  you,  my  dear  Mary,  it  was  in 

[163] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IBM 

appearance  alone,  for  my  inclination  would  have  in- 
duced me  to  write  often,  but  we  expected  your  re- 
turn every  day.  We  do  not  ask  you  again  to  ap- 
point the  day  for  us  to  send  for  you,  but  what  kind 
of  gallant  you  would  choose,  as,  on  each  day  you 
have  expressed  a  wish  to  return,  we  have  procured 
a  safe  conveyance  for  you,  and  were  disappointed  in 
not  seeing  you.  Now,  we  will  thank  you  to  send 
word  what  profession,  and  of  what  age,  would  be 
most  agreeable  to  you.  Lawyers,  merchants,  a  dea- 
con, and  a  major  have  solicited  the  pleasure  of  es- 
corting you  back  to  Concord,  but  have  not  been 
fortunate  enough  to  meet  your  approbation.  Per- 
haps, a  young  student  would  be  acceptable, — more 
so  than  these  grave  gallants  who  have  presented 
themselves  to  you." 

On  reaching  home,  my  mother  wrote  to  Miss 
Bromfield: 

"Concord,  March  19th,  1804. 
"  So  unexpectedly  did  I  leave  Charlestown,  I  was 
unable  to  bid  my  dear  Ann  adieu,  or  to  make  in- 
quiry relative  to  her  health.  At  eight  in  the  eve- 
ning, my  brother  informed  me  the  stage  would  call 
for  me  by  six  the  next  morning.  As  the  storm  was 
then  violent,  I  flattered  myself  it  would  justify  me 
in  remaining  a  few  days  longer,  and  give  me  an  op- 
portunity of  again  seeing  my  friend.  Contrary  to  ex- 
pectation, the  morning  was  not  unpleasant.  I  there- 
fore took  my  seat  in  the  stage,  and  could  only  look 

[164] 


1804]  CONCORD 

an  adieu  towards  the  Square.  The  roads  were  ex- 
tremely bad ;  more  than  once,  I  thought  we  should 
have  occasion  for  a  boat.  Indeed,  every  movement 
of  the  carriage  reminded  me  of  being  at  sea  in  a 
storm.  The  vessel  pitched  and  rolled,  and  twice  was 
nearly  laid  on  her  beam-ends.  By  apologizing  for  the 
circumstantial  egotism  of  this  page,  I  should  pay  an 
ill  compliment  to  Friendship.  The  letters  most  grate- 
ful to  my  feelings  are  those  which  convey  the  most 
perfect  image  of  my  friend,  her  thoughts,  feelings, 
and  employments;  and  such  I  think  most  satisfac- 
tory to  my  dear  Ann.  In  writing  to  a  mere  acquaint- 
ance, one  may  study  for  ingenuity  of  thought,  or  ele- 
gance of  expression ;  but  in  writing  to  &  friend,  one 
feels  the  full  value  of  that  easy  security  with  which 
the  soul  reposes,  the  heart  pours  itself  forth,  fearless 
of  criticism,  confident  of  being  received  with  affec- 
tionate warmth. 

"Let  me  know  if  you  have  determined  to  pass 
the  summer  in  Newbury.  If  so,  I  presume  it  will  be 
principally  spent  in  solitude.  Miss  Emerson,  (a  friend 
whom  you  have  heard  me  mention  as  one  of  the  first 
of  women)  has  often  observed  to  me,  so  far  did  she 
think  the  pleasures  and  advantages  of  solitude  sur- 
passed those  of  society,  so  much  more  perfect  was 
her  consciousness  of  existing  in  the  presence  of  De- 
ity, a  'Deity  believed,  adored,  and  loved,'  that  she 
never  quitted  her  retirement  without  regret,  nor  re- 
turned to  it  without  the  most  delightful  emotion. 
I  do  not  know  but  this  principle  may  be  dangerous. 

[165] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [ISM 

What  think  you  ?  Have  we  a  right  to  seclude  our- 
selves entirely  from  the  world  ?  Can  we  dispense  with 
the  social  duties? 

"To  Susan,  I  add  a  postscript.  May  it  be  received, 
as  it  is  proffered,  in  the  spirit  of  love,  with  which  I 
am,  my  dear  Ann,  affectionately  yours, 

MARY  VAN  SCHALKWYCK. 

"P.S.  Will  you,  my  interesting  friend,  welcome 
through  the  medium  of  our  Ann,  an  assurance  of 
my  affectionate  remembrance,  and  of  the  interest  I 
shall  ever  feel  in  your  happiness.  I  shall  never  for- 
get, nor  can  I  consent  to  be  forgotten  by  you.  With 
those  dear  ideas  that  make  this  life  supportable,  and 
the  next  desirable,  I  class  the  hope  of  meeting  you, 
where  friendship  shall  be  perfected,  and  friends  for- 
ever united.  I  cannot  think  it  improbable  that,  at 
some  future  period  of  existence,  we  may  recollect 
the  time  when  this  was  only  hope,  and  rejoice  in  the 
perfect  satisfaction  of  reality. 

"Adieu — accept  an  affectionate  good  evening 
from  MARY  VAN  SCHALKWYCK." 

This  postscript  was  the  beginning  of  a  correspond- 
ence between  my  mother  and  Miss  Susan  Cabot 
Lowell  (afterwards  Mrs.  Gorham),  which  lasted  as 
long  as  my  mother  lived.  Mrs.  Gorham  preserved 
many  of  my  mother's  letters.  After  her  death  they 
came  into  my  father's  possession,  and  were  read  by 
him  to  my  sister  and  myself,  with  other  letters  of 
my  mother,  when  we  were  very  young.  I  never  knew 

[166] 


1804]  CONCORD 

Mrs.  Gorham,  who  died  only  a  few  years  later  than 
my  mother,  but  it  is  a  pleasant  circumstance  to  me 
that  friendships  now  exist  between  those  of  her  line- 
age and  my  mother's  hardly  less  warm  than  that  of 
which  we  have  so  full  an  expression  in  these  letters. 
From  Miss  Anna  Cabot  Lowell,  a  niece  of  Mrs. 
Gorham,  I  learn  that  her  aunt,  whose  memory  she 
cherishes  with  affectionate  reverence,  was  distin- 
guished for  the  enthusiasm  and  disinterestedness  of 
her  affections,  and  for  her  refined  and  literary  tastes. 
She  was  the  daughter  of  Judge  Lowell,  who  was  ap- 
pointed by  Washington  Judge  of  the  United  States 
District  Court — the  same  office  which  his  great- 
grandson,  our  valued  friend  Judge  Lowell,  received 
from  Lincoln.  Mrs.  Gorham's  mother  was  Susan 
Cabot,  the  second  wife  of  Judge  Lowell.  Her  home, 
until  her  father's  death,  was  in  Roxbury,  at  Bromley 
Vale,  in  the  old  mansion-house  which  afterwards 
descended  to  the  son  and  to  the  son's  son  of  Judge 
Lowell,  and  which  has  but  recently  been  removed 
to  make  way  for  the  encroachments  of  the  city. 
When  Judge  Lowell  died,  in  1802,  his  widow  and 
third  wife  (who  was  a  Miss  Russell,  and  the  grand- 
mother of  James  Russell  Lowell)  removed  to  Charles- 
town,  where  her  relatives  lived.  There  it  was  that  my 
mother,  while  visiting  her  cousins,  met  Miss  Lowell 
and  her  sister,  and  formed  the  friendship  of  which 
these  letters  are  the  memorial.  The  elder  sister  of 
Miss  Susan  Lowell,  Miss  Anna  Cabot  Lowell,  who 
according  to  the  fashion  of  the  day  was  called  Nancy, 

[167] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [ISM 

was  a  daughter  of  Judge  Lowell  by  his  first  mar- 
riage. Her  mother  was  a  Miss  Higginson.  From  my 
earliest  recollection  I  have  heard  of  Miss  Nancy  Low- 
ell as  the  woman  of  her  day  most  distinguished, 
among  all  who  knew  her,  for  her  remarkable  intel- 
lect. Her  niece  and  namesake  has  told  me  that  her 
Aunt  Susan  looked  up  to  her  elder  sister  with  an 
almost  idolatrous  affection,  and  that  her  Aunt  Nancy 
was  regarded  with  hardly  less  enthusiasm  by  a  large 
circle  of  admiring  friends.  She  and  my  mother  died 
within  a  few  months  of  each  other. 

It  would  seem  that  the  spring  of  1804  was  to  my 
mother  a  season  of  more  than  usual  thoughtfulness 
and  self-examination.  We  find  that  on  her  return 
from  her  visit  to  Charlestown  she  began  a  journal 
which,  after  a  few  pages,  she  thought  it  best  to  dis- 
continue. This  precious  manuscript  was  given  to  me 
by  my  dear  father  in  the  days  of  my  youth.  Coming 
to  me  at  that  impressible  period,  a  message  from  her 
to  whom  I  looked  up  as  to  a  saint  in  heaven,  it  in- 
fluenced me  as  no  living  teacher  could  do.  The  re- 
ligious views  which  I  then  received,  as  it  were  from 
my  mother's  lips,  are  the  cherished  convictions  of 
my  declining  years.  I  copy  passages  from  this  jour- 
nal, as  follows: 

"Sunday,  18th  of  March,  1804.  Commenced  this 
journal,  with  the  humble  and  fervent  hope  of  its  be- 
ing the  means  of  assisting  me  in  self-knowledge,  and 
advancing  me  in  the  graces  of  the  Christian  char- 
acter. 

[168] 


1804]  CONCORD 

"  In  the  morning  of  this  Lord's  day,  I  awoke  early; 
but  the  dangerous  habit  of  rising  late  which  I  have 
too  much  indulged,  rendered  me  unwilling  to  leave 
the  bed.  I  sought,  therefore,  to  compromise  with 
conscience,  by  determining,  though  I  rose  not,  to 
meditate  and  pray.  How  dangerous  is  it  to  yield  to 
indolence !  My  thoughts  were  incoherent,  my  prayers 
mere  ejaculations,  and  those  not  fervent, — thus  an 
hour  or  more  was  unprofitably  spent  that  ought  to 
have  been  devoted  to  the  service  of  the  Lord,  my 
Creator,,  my  Preserver,  my  Redeemer.  Father  of 
light  and  life,  give  me  strength  to  overcome  every 
propensity  to  the  sin  of  indolence, — that  mortal 
poison  to  the  soul! 

"Read  this  morning  Malachi  iv.  How  delightful 
was  the  promise  that  the  'Sun  of  righteousness 
should  arise  with  healing  in  His  wings.'  Oh,  may  this 
glorious  Sun  warm  as  well  as  enlighten  me,  a  most 
unworthy  creature!  Read  also  the  different  tenets 
of  Calvin  and  Arminius, — neither  of  which  can  I 
wholly  and  cordially  embrace.  Methinks,  Calvin,  by 
denying  the  free  agency  of  man,  and  by  supposing 
Deity  has  predestinated  many  to  eternal  misery,  im- 
peaches His  justice  and  goodness.  On  the  other  side, 
the  confident  reliance  of  Arminius  on  works  appears 
to  me  altogether  unsatisfactory,  and  opposed  to  the 
first  principles  of  Christianity.  For  myself,  I  feel  it 
would  be  a  most  miserable  faith,  and  would  make 
death,  indeed,  the  King  of  Terrors.  I  believe,  with 
Calvin,  in  the  depravity  of  human  nature,  and  in  sal- 

[169] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [ISM 

vation  by  grace  alone ;  with  Arminius,  I  believe  man 
is  a  free  agent,  that  the  death  of  Christ  put  all  man- 
kind in  a  salvable  state,  that  grace  is  accorded  to 
every  one  who  will  pray  for  it,  and  improve  it ;  and 
that  those  who  have  believed  may  fall,  and  finally 
come  short  of  salvation. 

"Mr.  Ripley  preached  from  II  Kings  v.  18;  the 
subject  was  Naaman's  petition  that  he  might  be  per- 
mitted to  bow  in  the  temple  of  Rimmon.  My  devo- 
tion, except  in  the  last  prayer,  was  cold ;  my  thoughts 
wandered  on  many  subjects,  and  I  have  brought 
away  less  of  the  sermon  than  I  ought.  May  I  be  en- 
abled to  profit  more  in  future! 

"After  my  return,  read  the  first  and  second  epis- 
tles of  Peter,  and  had  a  joyful  sense  of  God's  good- 
ness in  Jesus  Christ.  In  prayer,  though  I  saw  through 
a  glass  darkly,  yet  had  much  satisfaction,  and  when 
I  offered  up  a  petition  for  the  souls  of  my  husband 
and  brother,  my  Heavenly  Father  granted  me  sweet 
consolation.  I  cannot,  therefore,  believe  it  is  displeas- 
ing to  Him  to  hear  prayers  for  the  dead.  How  many 
wise  men,  and  sincere  Christians,  have  united  in  the 
belief  that  with  such  prayers  God  is  well  pleased. 
Besides,  if  no  good  results  to  the  dead,  certainly  they 
cannot  be  injured  by  them;  and,  methinks,  it  is  a 
kind  of  piety  to  treasure  their  remembrance  even  in 
our  devotion.  The  effect  on  myself,  I  think,  is  good.  I 
have  never  felt  my  heart  more  humbled,  more  pen- 
etrated, more  deeply  impressed  with  a  sense  of  my 

[170] 


1804]  CONCORD 

dependence  on  God  than  when  I  approached  Him 
in  behalf  of  my  beloved  departed  friends.  I  concluded 
the  reading  of  the  day  by  Sherlock's  discourse  on  the 
mysteries  of  the  Gospel. 

"Monday.  Rose  at  half-past  six.  Was  not  animated 
in  my  devotion.  Wilt  Thou,  O  Father,  warm  my 
heart  by  Thy  Love,  and  sanctify  me  by  Thy  Spirit! 

"  In  the  afternoon,  Mr.  Ripley  called,  with  an  invi- 
tation for  Betsy  and  myself  to  pass  a  few  hours  at  the 
parsonage.  We  went.  In  the  evening,  Mr.  Ripley 
spoke  of  the  state  of  departed  souls, — of  our  recog- 
nizing our  friends  in  a  future  state ;  gave  it  as  his  de- 
cided opinion  that  we  should ;  thought  every  well- 
founded  friendship  would  endure  eternally ;  and  that 
the  felicity  of  Heaven  would  consist,  not  only  in  love 
to  God,  but  love  towards  each  other.  He  likewise 
mentioned  his  idea  of  future  punishment,  which  he 
thought  would  be  a  series  of  suffering,  terminating 
in  annihilation.  He  rendered  eternal  punishment  eter- 
nal death  or  annihilation. 

"  Tuesday.  Read  in  Psalms ;  was  indisposed,  a  vio- 
lent head-ache  in  the  morning.  Felt  a  depression  of 
spirits, — coldness  of  devotion  except  when  reading 
the  Scriptures.  Wrote  to  Guadeloupe,  to  Mr.  Cut- 
ler, Miss  Bromfield,  and  Grace  Hurd.  Read  a  letter 
from  Voltaire  to  Helvetius,  containing  excellent  ad- 
vice for  the  formation  of  his  style. 

"  Wednesday.  Read  the  third  and  fourth  chapters 
of  St.  John's  Gospel.  Was  assisted  in  devotion  by 

[171] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

the  Prayer-book  of  the  Church  of  England.  Is  it  not 
best  when  our  own  devotion  languishes,  to  revive  it 
by  the  perusal  of  prayers  by  others  ? 

"Thursday.  The  state  of  indifference,  so  much 
to  be  dreaded,  prevailed  in  my  devotions.  Read  in 
St.  Matthew's  Gospel.  Afternoon,  read  Goldsmith's 
'History  of  England.' 

"Saturday.  Was  assisted  in  devotion  by  the 
Prayer-book.  It  was  a  day  of  sorrow.  May  it  prove 
profitable  sorrow  to  my  soul !  In  the  afternoon,  was 
much  indisposed  with  a  nervous  complaint  in  my 
head.  Found  consolation  in  the  Bible,  and  endeav- 
oured to  say, '  Father,  in  all  things,  Thy  will  be  done.' 

"Sabbath.  Was  assisted  in  devotion  by  the  Epis- 
copal Prayer-book.  Read  the  chief  of  St.  John's  Gos- 
pel. Was  indisposed  the  whole  day,  yet  did  I  expe- 
rience a  happy  tranquillity  of  mind,  though  with  less 
fervour  in  devotion  than  I  wished. 

"  Tuesday.  Read  the  Scriptures,  but  was  not  ani- 
mated with  the  spirit  of  fervent  piety.  Had  many 
uncomfortable  doubts.  Knew  not  how  to  reconcile 
the  idea  of  a  particular  Providence  with  Man's  free 
agency.  Visited  Mrs.  Thoreau.  Spoke  of  the  doctrine 
of  Guardian  Angels.  Read  Newton's  letter  on  that 
subject. 

"  Wednesday.  Was  greatly  favoured  by  my  Heav- 
enly Father.  Felt  a  greater  warmth  of  devotion  than 
I  had  long  known.  Read  Newton's  life,  written  by 
himself  in  a  series  of  letters.  Though  I  felt  my  heart 
warmed  toward  God,  and  was  impressed  with  a 

[172] 


1804]  CONCORD 

sense  of  my  own  unworthiness,  still  was  I  distressed 
with  doubts  of  a  directing  Providence.  Oh,  that  I 
could  see  a  Providence  directing  all  things!  Grant, 
Lord,  this  mercy,  for  Christ's  sake! 

"  Thursday.  Was  highly  favoured  with  a  more  holy 
frame  of  devotion  than  I  had  long  experienced.  Read 
in  St.  Matthew's  Gospel.  Many  doubts  arose  in  my 
mind  concerning  this  method  of  keeping  a  journal. 
Does  it,  or  does  it  not,  savour  too  much  of  ostenta- 
tion? Is  not  my  conduct  influenced  by  the  idea  that 
all  will  be  recorded  by  my  own  pen ;  whereas  the  de- 
sire to  please  God  and  obtain  His  Love,  should  be 
the  ruling,  and  the  only  motive  of  all  my  actions  ? 
Perhaps  even  my  devotions  are  influenced,  in  a  de- 
gree, by  a  wish  to  avoid  a  dark  page  in  my  journal. 
These  ideas  have  determined  me  to  omit,  for  some 
time  at  least,  the  custom  of  recording  my  feelings. 
But,  as  a  habit  of  committing  to  paper  whatever  re- 
markable I  have  read  or  heard  in  the  course  of  the 
day,  appears  to  me  to  be  beneficial,  I  have  determined 
to  continue  that  practice." 

That  this  was  my  mother's  habit  appears  from 
the  many  loose  sheets  that  we  find  among  her  pa- 
pers, upon  which  she  has  transcribed  what  most  in- 
terested her  in  reading,  as  well  as  from  her  well-filled 
extract-book.  The  present  journal,  however,  con- 
cludes with  only  the  following  records : 

"April  29th.  Sabbath  morning.  Read  in  Psalms 
and  St.  John's  Gospel.  Methinks,  the  tenderness. 

[173] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IDM 

the  consoling  love  that  speaks  through  the  beloved 
Evangelist  must  recommend  him  in  a  particular 
manner  to  every  heart  of  sensibility.  When  does  our 
Divine  Saviour  appear  so  irresistibly  lovely,  as  when 
speaking  through  the  medium  of  John  ? '  In  my  Fa- 
ther's house  are  many  mansions.  I  go  to  prepare  a 
place  for  you.'  *  I  have  prayed  for  you,  and  not  for 
you  only,  but  for  all  those  who  shall  hereafter  be- 
lieve on  me.'  'I  go  to  my  Father,  and  your  Father, 
to  my  God  and  your  God.'  'Where  I  am,  there  ye 
shall  be  also.'  'Peace  be  with  you,  my  peace  I  leave 
unto  you ;  not  as  the  world  giveth,  give  I  unto  you.' 
Who  can  read  unmoved  the  pathetic  tenderness  of 
our  Lord!  How  cold,  how  ungrateful  is  my  heart, 
which  so  often  forgets  all  the  Saviour's  love, — which 
dwells  hours  on  the  gifts,  for  minutes  devoted  to  the 
Giver  of  all  good.  How  long  has  one  letter  from  a 
beloved  friend  dwelt  in  my  mind  and  warmed  my 
heart — how  frequently  has  it  been  perused,  how 
carefully  its  meaning  examined,  how  dear  has  the 
treasure  appeared!  But  how  often  have  the  Divine 
epistles  of  my  Lord  lain  neglected,  or  but  coldly  and 
superficially  been  perused !  Grant,  Heavenly  Father, 
grace  to  warm,  enlighten,  and  purify  my  soul ! " 

The  following  fragment  of  a  letter,  though  with- 
out date  or  address,  I  suppose,  from  the  handwri- 
ting and  other  indications,  belongs  to  this  period. 

"I  have  just  laid  aside  Milton,  who  has  become 
my  favourite  Divine.  In  the  course  of  this  last  win- 

[174] 


1804]  CONCORD 

ter,  I  perused  several  theological  works,  and  have  re- 
turned to  my  Bible  with  increased  pleasure,  and  a 
delightful  consciousness  that  there  is  one  volume 
in  which  is  contained  pure  Truth,  unadulterated  by 
prejudice,  plain  to  the  simplest,  divinely  sublime  to 
the  wisest.  Next  to  the  Bible,  I  rank  the  Poets ;  I  am 
confident  Milton,  Cowper,  Young,  and  Thomson 
excite  more  devotional  feelings  than  all  the  contro- 
versial authors  in  Christendom.  As  I  would  avoid 
the  touch  of  the  torpedo,  would  I  fly  from  those 
men  who,  refining  away  every  thing  not  perfectly 
comprehensible  to  our  weak  dim-sighted  reason, 
would  make  us  believe  a  cold,  speculative  adora- 
tion of  Deity  is  all  that  we  can  or  ought  to  pay,  who 
regard  the  Saviour  only  as  the  founder  of  a  new  re- 
ligion, and  the  institutor  of  a  pure  system  of  mor- 
als. As  though  an  invisible  Benefactor  might  not  be 
loved,  and  as  though  our  Creator  and  Redeemer 
were  not  entitled  to  the  best  offerings  of  the  heart 
as  well  as  the  head.  I  know  enthusiasm  has  its  at- 
tendant dangers,  but,  to  me,  they  appear  far  less  fatal 
than  its  cold  reverse ;  and  were  happiness,  even  in  this 
world,  my  object,  I  would  prefer  waking  and  weeping 
with  enthusiastic  Mary,  at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  to 
being  the  icy-souled,  the  self-thought  rational,  en- 
lightened Deist,  or  his  dear  friend  and  brother,  the 
Socinian.  Thinking  thus,  you  will  not  be  surprised 
that  the  Poets  are  my  favourite  Divines.  Milton's 
theology  appears  to  me  equally  sound  and  delightful. 
The  most  abstruse  subjects  explained  by  him  be- 

[175] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

come  clear,  and  I  sometimes  think  him  inspired  by 
the  Spirit  he  so  solemnly  invoked." 

To  Miss  Bromfield: 

"Concord,  March  20th,  1804. 

"  I  need  not  say  it  would  have  given  me  pleasure 
to  have  accepted  the  lovely  Susan's  invitation.  Des- 
tiny appears  to  separate  us  here.  Let  us  hope, — for 
me,  I  fondly  cherish  the  expectation, — that  we  shall 
meet  at  some  future  period  of  existence.  Were  it 
not  for  the  hope  of  'another  and  a  better  world,' 
were  it  not  for  the  expectation  of  meeting  there 
those  who  have  been,  and  are,  most  dear  to  my 
heart,  I  should  be  indeed  wretched.  Certainly,  but 
for  this,  I  would  never  form  a  friendship.  I  would 
endeavour  to  extinguish  all  social  affections,  to  sup- 
press every  sentiment  of  tenderness,  and  invoke 
apathy  as  the  best  of  blessings. 

"  I  am  so  truly  in  the  writing  mood,  so  perfectly 
disposed  to  fill  two  or  three  more  pages,  I  find  it  nec- 
essary to  repeat,  every  moment, — 'Recollect,  Mary, 
you  have  letters  to  write  to  Guadeloupe.'  Bless  your 
fortunate  stars,  dear  Ann,  for  this  circumstance." 

To  Ruth  Hurd: 

"Concord,  March  23rd,  1804. 
"To  live  in  the  constant  presence  of  all  those  who 
are  dear  to  us  is  rarely  accorded  to  mortals.  And, 
indeed,  Wisdom  and  Love  Divine  have  so  deter- 
mined it.  Contrast  is  necessary,  alike,  to  beauty  and 

[176] 


1804]  CONCORD 

happiness.  Separation  from  those  we  love  heightens 
exceedingly  their  value,  and  the  pleasure  of  a  re- 
union compensates  for  the  pain  of  absence.  I  found 
this  reasoning  necessary  to  reconcile  me  to  quitting 
Charlestown  in  the  abrupt  manner  I  did,  and  thus 
it  is: — 

f<t  There  is  some  secret  virtue  in  things  evil, 
Would  men  observingly  distil  it  out.' 

4 

"No,  my  dear  girl,  I,  by  no  means,  imagine  Mr. 

R.  so  insensible  or  unjust  as  to  think  of  you  as  you 
intimate.  The  same  observations  would  apply  to  me, 
as  well  as  to  yourself.  I  am  perfectly  conscious  of 
my  inferiority  to  Miss  N.  L.,  and  should  think  no 
more  of  vicing  with  her  than  with  Mr.  Dexter ;  but 
I  should  be  extremely  mortified  did  I  not  believe  a 
man  of  sense  could  converse  with  us  both  without 
feeling  contempt.  In  truth,  my  dear  Ruth,  I  fancy 
there  is  a  natural  distinction  between  the  sexes,  and 
that  woman  may  not  only  be  as  interesting,  but  as 
improving,  when  she  preserves  the  distinction,  and 
cultivates  those  powers  that  render  her  the  sooth- 
ing, consoling,  amiable,  (but  not  therefore  ignorant,) 
friend  and  companion.  I  respect  that  woman  who, 
to  superior  strength  of  mind,  unites  goodness  and 
kindness; — I  do  more,  I  admire  her  as  almost  a 
prodigy.  But,  so  rarely  is  masculine  strength  allied 
to  feminine  sweetness,  so  unfortunately  is  the  woman 
lost  in  the  confident  orator,  that  I  believe  had  we 
abilities,  we  should  be  no  great  gainers  by  assuming 
superiority.  The  woman  who  rightly  understands 

[177] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IBM 

her  interest,  will  indeed  cultivate  her  mind  as  highly 
as  possible,  she  will  strengthen  it  by  exercise,  she 
will  consider  herself  rational  and  immortal,  but  she 
will  not  forget  she  is  still  woman,  that  the  duties 
prescribed  her  by  the  God  of  Nature,  are  essentially 
different  from  those  of  man;  and,  of  course,  it  be- 
comes her  to  cultivate  those  powers  by  which  she  is 
fitted  to  fulfil  her  duties. 

"  I  assure  you,  it  was  far  from  my  intention,  when 
I  sat  down,  to  enter  into  this  dissertation.  I  have  in- 
sensibly been  led  from  sentence  to  sentence  by  the 
subject.  I  flatter  myself  our  opinions  harmonize  on 
this  as  well  as  on  other  subjects.  Indeed,  I  am  cer- 
tain we  think  and  feel  here  in  unison. 

"Most  joyfully  do  I  congratulate  you,  my  dear 
friend,  on  the  resolution  you  have  formed  to  declare 
yourself  openly  the  disciple  of  the  blessed  Jesus,  and 
to  become  a  guest  at  His  table.  Besides  the  satisfac- 
tion of  complying  with  a  positive  and  most  affect- 
ing command,  besides  its  being  the  means  of  our 
growth  in  religion,  it  forms  so  delightful  a  bond  of 
union  between  Christians,  that,  were  the  most  pain- 
ful sacrifice  necessary  to  attain  the  privilege,  we 
should  be  insensible  to  hesitate  making  it. 

"Since  my  return,  the  walking  has  been  so  ex- 
tremely bad,  I  have  not  seen  our  amiable  B.,  but 
expect  this  afternoon  to  converse  with  her  on  a  very 
interesting  subject.  I  believe  she  has  not  heard  from 
Mr.  -  — ,  several  months  past,  and  am  astonished, 
with  the  certainty  which  he  possesses  that  the  cor- 

[178] 


1804]  CONCORD 

respondence  was  not  displeasing  to  her,  he  should 
delay  writing  a  single  post.  I  confess,  my  dear  Ruth, 
I  do  not  much  credit  the  ardour  of  that  attachment, 
which  is  so  diffident  of  its  own  strength  and  con- 
stancy. I  believe  genuine  love  never  suspects  the 
possibility  of  change. 

"Afternoon.  I  have  opened  this  letter  to  give  you 
an  extract  from  Moritz'  'Travels  through  England.' 
Speaking  of  Lichfield,  which  you  remember  Andr£ 
mentions  so  enthusiastically,  he  says : — 'It  is  an  old- 
fashioned  town  with  narrow,  dirty  streets.  The  place, 
to  me,  wore  an  unfriendly  appearance ;  I,  therefore, 
passed  hastily  through  it.'  Who  could  imagine  this 
to  be  'the  beautiful  city  that  lifts  her  fair  head  on 
high,  and  says: — /  am,  and  there  is  none  beside 
me.'" 

To  Ann  Bromfield : 

"Concord,  May  8th,  1804. 

"  Your  letter  arrived  most  opportunely,  my  dear 
Ann,  to  relieve  me  from  serious  anxiety  for  your 
health.  I  was  on  the  point  of  addressing  a  letter  of 
inquiry  to  you,  or  your  excellent  mother,  when  a 
messenger  from  the  post-office  wrought  an  immedi- 
ate change  in  my  feelings  and  determinations.  You 
see  I  do  not  easily  suspect  the  constancy  of  a  friend ; 
the  idea  of  diminished  regard  would  be  so  exceed- 
ingly painful,  I  cautiously  avoid  it,  and  impute  to 
any  other  cause  that  apparent  neglect  which  is  some- 
times inevitable,  even  among  the  dearest  friends. 

[179] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [ISM 

"May  9th.  The  early  morning  delightfully  in- 
vites me  to  address  you.  How  sweet  is  the  cool 
breeze  after  the  heat  of  yesterday,  how  gratefully 
the  verdure  of  nature  swells  to  sight  long  accustomed 
to  dazzling  snow,  or  the  brown,  lifeless  earth !  I  can- 
not describe  my  pleasure  at  the  first  warbling  of  the 
red-breast,  but  by  referring  you  to  a  recollection  of 
your  own.  Is  it  not  a  thousand  pities  that  sportsmen, 
who  know  no  other  gratification  in  their  amuse- 
ment than  the  pleasure  of  destroying,  should  be  per- 
mitted to  rob  the  country  of  its  sweetest  musician  ? 
Are  there  any  sounds  more  in  unison  with  a  calm 
sunset  than  the  mellow  notes  of  that  social  bird  ?  At 
the  opening  of  morning,  there  are  innumerable  shrill 
pipes  more  enlivening,  but  not  one  possesses  such 
full  and  tender  melody.  What  say  you  to  the  pro- 
posal of  draughting  a  petition  in  behalf  of  this  de- 
serving favourite?  Don't  you  think  some  wise  heads 
at  the  seat  of  Government  might  be  more  innocently 
employed  in  framing  laws  for  the  preservation  of  the 
blessings  we  do  enjoy,  than  in  forming  schemes  for 
the  acquisition  of  those  we  do  not?" 

To  Ruth  Kurd: 

"Concord,  May  14th,  1804. 

"How  charmingly  has  the  Spring  opened  upon 
us !  I  cannot  describe  the  pleasure  I  felt  at  the  first 
opening  of  the  wall-flower ;  it  was  the  signal  of  re- 
viving nature,  and,  while  it  regaled  us  with  its  per- 
fume, it  awakened  ideas  and  feelings  the  most  grate- 

[180] 


1804]  CONCORD 

fill.  If  you  have  never  preserved  it  through  the  win- 
ter, I  think  you  will  be  repaid  for  the  care  of  doing 
it,  next  season.  The  plant  is  hardy,  and  will  cost  you 
less  attention  than  any  other  with  which  I  am  ac- 
quainted. 

"Shall  we  not  see  you,  with  our  amiable  Hannah, 
soon  in  Concord  ?  Being  vacation,  it  is  the  season  of 
Beaux  with  us ;  and,  as  they  remain  not  longer  than 
strawberries  or  cherries,  we  shall  be  happy  if  you 
will  hasten  to  share  with  us  the  rare  view  of  two  or 
three  Gallants. 

"This  letter  is  written  hastily,  but,  my  dear  Ruth 
will  make  allowance  for  incoherence,  when  she  knows 
I  have  been  frequently  interrupted,  and  am  now 
called  on  to  welcome  some  of  our  college  friends." 

To  Mrs.  Lee: 

"Concord,  June  17th,  1804* 
"  Did  I  not  think  you  confide  in  the  constancy  of 
my  affectionate  regard,  I  should  make  a  lengthy 
apology  for  permitting  Sulla  to  return  to  Lancaster 
without  an  answer  to  your  last  affectionate  and  thrice 
welcome  epistle.  In  truth,  a  succession  of  company 
has  constantly  claimed  my  attention,  since  the  re- 
turn of  the  fine  season  has  rendered  the  country 
preferable  to  the  town.  Many  books  I  intended  read- 
ing have  lain  unopened,  and  several  pieces  of  work 
I  thought  to  have  accomplished  ere  now,  are  un- 
touched. 

"  How  little  of  our  short  life,  my  dear  Elizabeth, 
[181] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IBM 

is  at  our  own  disposal,  and,  of  that  little,  how  small 
a  proportion  is  usefully  and  satisfactorily  spent!  I 
am  confident,  could  we  exert  the  energy  and  inde- 
pendence necessary  to  a  systematic  life,  we  should 
find  'our  improvement,  and  of  course  our  happiness, 
greatly  increased.  The  desultory  manner  in  which 
nine-tenths  of  the  world  pass  their  lives,  is  destruc- 
tive to  good,  while  it  leaves  ample  room  for  the 
growth  of  evil.  Of  this  truth  no  one  can  be  more 
convinced  than  myself;  I  am  continually  forming 
wise  resolutions,  and  determining  in  future  to  fill 
each  portion  of  time  with  improvement;  and  yet  I 
too  often  find  'trifles  light  as  air'  dissolve  the  plans 
formed  in  moments  of  tranquil  leisure;  'busy  idle- 
ness,' or  listless  inactivity,  steals  many  of  the  hours 
which,  in  anticipation,  we  devoted  to  the  perform- 
ance of  duty,  the  pursuit  of  wisdom,  and  the  cul- 
tivation of  taste. 

"You  are  very  kind  to  urge  so  many  admirable 
motives  for  my  visiting  Lancaster  at  this  time.  None 
were  necessary  to  induce  me  to  wish  to  pass  part  of 
this  charming  season  with  you.  Apropos  of  Lancas- 
ter, I  have  lately  heard  as  many  fine  things  said,  as 
I  myself  ever  imagined;  and  by  whom  do  you  think  ? 
Even  by  the  brother  of  your  angelic  preacher,  Mr. 
Channing.  He  was  introduced  to  us  the  week  be- 
fore last;  I  had  indeed  seen  him  before,  but  never 
heard  him  converse.  He  appeared  correct  and  ele- 
gant ;  and,  you  will  not  doubt  I  give  him  credit  for 

[182] 


1804]  CONCORD 

fine  taste,  when  I  tell  you  he  said  that,  notwith- 
standing many  learned  authors  had  asserted  the  con- 
trary, he  was  certain,  Lancaster  was  formerly  part 
of  Paradise. 

"I  return  'David  Simple'  with  many  thanks,  and 
Helvetius  with  an  apology  for  having  so  long  de- 
tained it.  I  was,  several  times,  on  the  point  of  sending 
the  volume,  when  I  recollected  something  I  wished 
to  look  at  again,  and  thus  it  has  remained  with  me 
till  now." 

Next  we  have  a  letter  addressed  to  "Miss  Sarah 
Ripley,  Salem.  Politeness  of  Mr.  Cabot," — another 
"moss  from  the  old  Manse." 

"Concord,  June  27th,  1804. 

"  This  balmy  morning,  breathing  health  and  peace, 
has  inspired  me  with  feelings  worthy  to  be  devoted 
to  my  Sarah,  could  they  be  transmitted  by  some 
magic  from  heart  to  heart ;  but,  as  Andre  complains, 
'they  must  go  such  a  circuitous  route  from  the  heart 
to  the  head,  through  fingers,  pen,  paper, — over  hills 
and  dales, — and  then  must  undergo  the  scrutiny  of 
the  eye,  and  be  received  into  the  head,  before  they 
reach  the  heart  again,'  that  I  very  much  fear  the 
warmth,  the  animation,  the  soul,  would  evaporate, 
and  leave  you  little  more  than  a  mass  of  words,  by 
the  time  my  letter  reached  you.  I  will  refer  you  only 
to  your  own  feelings  on  Thursday  morning,  at  five 
o'clock,  if  that  early  hour  found  you  awake,  adding, 

[183] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IOM 

the  sweets  of  new-mown  hay  supplied  the  perfume 
of  a  city.  When  Mahomet  termed  smelling  'the  sense 
of  the  soul,'  he  approached  the  truth  more  nearly 
than  would  be,  at  first,  imagined.  It  certainly  has 
an  effect  indefinitely  great  on  our  feelings,  the  tone 
of  our  minds,  and  the  whole  colour  of  our  thoughts. 
Did  it  depend  on  myself,  I  would  embower  my  hab- 
itation with  fragrant  trees  and  shrubs,  more  remote 
would  place  the  fuller  odour  of  sweet-scented  flow- 
ers ;  and  this  as  a  promoter  of  cheerfulness  and  com- 
placency. 

"Do  not  imagine  I  have  expatiated  on  the  de- 
lights of  the  morning  air  because  I  had  nothing  more 
interesting,  no  subject  nearer  my  heart.  The  health 
of  my  dear  Sarah  has  been  as  anxiously  desired  by 
her  friend,  as  she  permits  aught  to  be  wished,  which 
concerns  this  momentary  existence.  I  was  relieved 
by  learning,  from  your  father,  you  supported  your 
journey  as  far  as  Charlestown,  with  more  ease  than 
he  apprehended ;  I  am  resigned  to  the  deprivation 
of  your  society,  so  well  convinced  am  I,  your  health 
will  be  benefited  by  change  of  air  and  objects,  with 
the  attention,  and  amiable  cheerfulness  of  Miss  Law- 
rence. Present  to  her  the  sentiments  you  think  most 
acceptable  from  your  Mary ;  none  can  more  admire 
the  noble  sincerity  and  independence  of  her  charac- 
ter, than  myself,  none  render  more  justice  to  the 
warmth  of  her  heart. 

"Monday,  July  2nd.  Company  obliged  me  to  quit 
[184] 


1804]  CONCORD 

my  dear  Sarah,  and  company  has,  until  now,  pre- 
vented my  enjoying  paper  conversation  with  her.  My 
cousin,  E.  Gould,  from  Augusta,  is  with  me ;  she  is 
a  lively,  sensible,  engaging  girl ;  and,  were  it  not  for 
the  solicitude  her  delicate  health  excites,  I  should 
find  her  society  a  cordial.  As  neither  of  my  sisters 
is  at  home,  the  laws  of  hospitality,  seconded  by  in- 
clination, oblige  me  to  devote  much  of  my  time  to 
her, — of  course,  little  has  remained  for  my  pen. 

"Yesterday,  for  the  third  time,  I  received  welcome 
intelligence  of  your  improved  health.  Don't  be  as- 
tonished, my  dear;  distinguished  personages  must 
ever  expect  attention  will  be  paid  to  their  most  mi- 
nute actions,  and  the  state  of  their  health,  spirits, 
etc.,  etc.,  afford  subject  of  conversation  to  all  the 
little  beings  around  them.  If  you  recollect  with  whom 
you  breakfasted  on  your  journey  to  Salem,  you  will 
not  be  at  a  loss  to  know  from  whom  I  once  heard 
from  you.  Hannah  gave  me  yesterday  an  assurance, 
the  most  gratifying,  that  Salem  air,  and  Salemfriends 
had  proved  as  charming  restoratives  as  our  hopes  had 
predicted. 

"  Should  you  see  Miss  Jenks,  oblige  me  by  assur- 
ing her  my  heart  has  ever  retained  the  sweet  image 
of  the  little  blue-eyed  girl  I  loved  when,  like  herself, 
a  child." 

With  my  mother's  letters  of  1804  I  find  the  fol- 
lowing note  to  Rev.  William  Emerson,  the  brother 

[185] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [ISM 

of  Miss  Mary  Emerson.  My  father  has  marked  it  in 
pencil,  "To  Editor  of  the  Anthology."1 

"Sabbath  Evening. 

"  Not  all  my  confidence  in  the  candour  of  Mr.  Em- 
erson enables  me  to  transmit  the  superficial  produc- 
tion of  a  winter's  morning  without  reluctance.  It  is 
only  in  compliance  with  his  sister's  request  I  deter- 
mine to  send,  by  to-morrow's  post,  what  will  be  per- 
haps rejected  by  the  judgment  and  taste  of  the  Editor 
of  the  'Anthology.'  Should  this  be  the  case,  no  one 
can  acknowledge  the  justice  of  the  sentence  more 
sincerely  than  the  author." 

From  this  it  seems  that  my  mother  had  "gained 
courage"  to  write  for  the  public  eye.  The  following 
note  and  letter  appeared  in  the  "Anthology"  for 
July,  1804. 

"FOR  THE  'ANTHOLOGY.' 

"Mr.  Editor, — Should  you  be  disposed  to  admit 
into  your  elegant  publication  the  correspondence  of 
two  obscure  females,  who  have  hitherto  written 
merely  for  their  own  amusement,  and  who  still  seek 
concealment,  you  will  probably  receive  several  let- 
ters from  Constance  and  Cornelia." 

1  In  1803,  the  Anthology  Club  was  founded  in  Boston,  consisting  of 
fourteen  members,  six  of  them  ministers.  In  November,  the  first  number 
of  the  "  Monthly  Anthology  "  appeared,  and  it  was  continued  until  June, 
1811.  It  was  the  first  literary  and  critical  magazine  of  any  note  published 
in  America.  The  article  mentioned  is  in  the  form  of  a  letter,  signed  Cor- 
nelia, and  is  addressed  to  Miss  Mary  Emerson  under  the  name  of  Con- 
stance. —  ED. 

[186] 


1804]  CONCORD 

The  editor  of  the  "Anthology"  adds  the  following 
note: 

"  If  Constance  shall  manifest  the  piety  of  heart, 
and  warmth  of  fancy,  which  glow  in  her  friend  Cor- 
nelia, the  Editor  will  be  proud  of  his  new  correspond- 
ents." 

TO  CONSTANCE 

July,  1804. 

The  sublime  death  of  Mrs.  -  — ,  which  you  last 
evening  described  to  me,  dear  Constance,  deeply  im- 
pressed my  mind.  Resignation  derived  from  such 
sources,  at  the  moment  of  such  a  separation,  from  a 
mind  like  hers,  which,  you  say,  "exhibited  a  fair  and 
beautiful  symmetry,  justness  in  reasoning,  strength 
to  investigate,  and  clearness  to  discover ;  with  those 
estimable  qualities,  sensibility,  fortitude,  and  mod- 
esty;" is  truly  wonderful. 

When  you  left  me,  I  retired  to  my  chamber,  with 
the  image  of  the  expiring  saint  before  me.  Seating 
myself  at  a  window,  mine  eyes  were  involuntarily 
raised  towards  heaven ;  and  "  Where  is  now  the  abode 
of  the  departed  spirit?"  was  my  first  inquiry.  Does 
that  state  of  progression,  which  we  believe  continues 
after  death,  permit  the  idea  that  the  soul  ascends  to 
the  complete  enjoyment  of  the  immediate  presence 
of  Deity,  which  would  be  at  once  the  perfection  of 
bliss  and  glory?  Of  the  innumerable  "gems  that  pave 
the  floor  of  heaven,"  we  know  little,  but  believe  them 
to  be  suns,  enlightening  other  systems;  those  sys- 
tems are  doubtless  the  abodes  of  intelligent  beings; 

[187] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [ISM 

why  may  we  not  suppose  them  to  be  the  different 
"mansions  of  our  heavenly  Father,"  of  which  the 
Saviour  informed  His  sorrowing  disciples,  and  where 
He  assured  them  of  a  reception  ?  And  is  it  irrational 
to  believe  congenial  spirits  assemble  in  the  same 
planet,  and  thence  pass  to  more  glorious  orbs,  as  they 
acquire  greater  purity  and  perfection  ? 

In  this  train  of  thought  I  fell  asleep,  but  was  soon 
awakened  by  heavy  thunder;  severe  and  frequent 
flashes  of  lightning  were  succeeded  by  peals  awfully 
majestic ;  nature  was  alternately  wrapt  in  flames  and 
in  darkness,  and  the  still  silence  of  night  was  broken 
only  by  the  voice  of  God.  It  was  then  when  I  felt  that 
every  flash  might  be  the  mandate  of  death ;  when  I 
tremblingly  realized  the  next  moment  might  termi- 
nate my  probationary  state,  and  place  my  disem- 
bodied spirit  in  the  presence  of  that  pure  and  holy 
Judge,  by  whose  irrevocable  decree  my  fate  would  be 
sealed ;  that  I  acknowledged  the  folly  of  indulging 
mere  speculations,  the  pastime  of  the  imagination, 
by  which  the  heart  is  little  affected,  and  of  course  the 
life  unimproved ;  it  was  then,  impressed  with  an  idea 
that  my  life  was  just  closing,  I  felt  that  true  wisdom 
should  engage  us  to  employ  with  activity  each  mo- 
ment allowed  us,  to  seek  unceasingly  the  favour  of 
our  Maker,  and  thus  prepare  for  that  death  which  is 
inevitable ;  instead  of  regarding  it  as  a  probable,  but 
very  distant  event,  and  amusing  ourselves,  in  the  in- 
terim, with  fancying  the  scenes  to  which  it  may  in- 
troduce us. 

[188] 


1804]  CONCORD 

What  is  this  strange  propensity  in  our  nature  to 
turn  from  the  contemplation  of  indubitable  and  es- 
sential truth,  while  we  readily  resign  ourselves  to 
imagination,  and  rove  with  delight  in  the  boundless 
regions  of  possibility  ?  How,  my  ever  valued  friend, 
is  this  propensity  to  be  corrected ;  how,  (since  all  our 
faculties  may  answer  that  important  purpose,)  best 
made  to  conduce  to  our  felicity  as  immortal  beings? 

The  wish  to  obtain  your  opinion  on  this  subject 
induced  me  to  throw  on  paper  the  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings of  last  night ;  refuse  not  to  oblige  your 

CORNELIA. 

In  the  "Anthology"  for  August,  1804,  Miss  Em- 
erson replied  to  this  letter,  defending  the  use  of  the 
imagination;  in  December,  1804,  she  wrote  on  bot- 
any as  confirming  the  Christian  faith.  To  this  my 
mother  replied,  in  a  subsequent  number,  as  follows: 

TO    CONSTANCE 

January  15th,  1805. 

Yes,  my  dear  Constance,  the  interesting  science, 
whose  tendency  you  have  investigated  and  justly 
eulogized,  does  indeed  shed  new  light  on  the  best 
interests  of  Man ;  and  though  to  the  mere  naturalist, 
it  is  little  more  than  an  amusement,  to  the  Christian 
botanist  it  presents  a  chaplet  of  never  fading  flowers. 

And,  surely,  my  friend,  since  the  love  of  nature 
is  intimately  connected  with  that  of  her  Author,  it 

[189] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IBM 

is  "devoutly  to  be  wished"  that  a  taste  for  all  her 
sublime  and  touching  beauties  might  be  universally 
and  assiduously  cultivated.  If  the  study  of  her  low- 
liest children  tends  to  contemplations  the  most  ele- 
vating, if  the  vegetable  world  demonstrates  the  Wis- 
dom, the  Goodness,  and  the  Power  of  the  Creator, 
ought  not  an  attention  to  grander  harmonies  to  sub- 
limate the  soul  and  all  its  capacities? 

To  a  well-toned  mind,  and  refined  taste,  inex- 
haustible sources  of  pleasure  are  opened.  Change  of 
seasons  presents  objects  ever  new;  and,  even  in  the 
short  compass  of  day  and  night,  the  senses  and  the 
imagination  are  regaled  by  a  ceaseless  variety  of 
beauties.  The  mere  connoisseur,  who  criticises  na- 
ture as  he  does  the  fine  arts,  is  insensibly  animated 
and  purified  by  it.  The  cheerful  morning  invigorates 
his  mind  and  his  affections ;  and  the  serene  evening, 
while  it  soothes  the  jarring  passions  awakened  by  the 
events  of  the  day,  communicates  to  his  heart  that 
tenderness  and  benevolence,  of  which  it  seems  the 
reflected  image. 

But  how  are  these  advantages  enhanced,  these 
pleasures  ennobled,  to  the  being  who  beholds  the 
great  Artificer,  through  the  medium  of  His  works! 
In  the  simplicity  and  grandeur  of  that  system  which 
blesses  our  world  with  alternate  light  and  shade,  he 
views  the  goodness  of  a  Father,  and  adores  the  maj- 
esty of  a  God ;  whilst  every  proof  of  His  omnipo- 
tence and  omnipresence  fills  the  heart  with  that  sweet 

[190] 


1804]  CONCORD 

confidence,  which  is  an  antidote  to  all  the  ills  of  life. 
And,  when  the  west  is  splendid  with  crimson  and 
gold,  how  superior  to  the  pleasure  of  the  painter  and 
the  poet  is  the  rapture  of  gratitude  which  raises  the 
soul  to  Him,  by  whose  law  grey  masses  of  vapour  are 
transformed  into  objects  pleasing  to  the  eye,  ani- 
mating to  the  fancy,  and  elevating  to  the  feelings 
of  the  admiring  observer! 

I  know  your  opinion  of  Cowper,  the  faithful  poet 
of  nature  and  of  Christianity,  too  well  to  imagine 
you  can  have  perused  his  life,  written  by  the  elegant 
and  affectionate  Hayley,  without  pleasure.  There  is 
genuine  satisfaction  in  finding  the  Author  whose 
works  we  admire,  worthy  our  esteem  and  confidence 
as  a  man;  his  precepts  acquire  a  strength  and  grace, 
when  illustrated  by  his  own  example,  which  nothing 
else  can  give  to  them.  We  are  grateful  to  the  good- 
natured  biographer,  who,  by  presenting  us  with  a 
favourable  portrait,  adds  energy  to  the  page  whence 
we  derive  wisdom  and  delight.  But  there  are  dan- 
gers in  this  species  of  biography ;  and,  on  the  whole, 
which  do  you  think  most  beneficial  to  the  cause  of 
virtue  and  science,  the  tender  partiality  of  Hayley, 
or  the  stern  investigation  of  Johnson  ? 

Hoping  for  an  answer,  I  bid  you  an  affectionate 
farewell.  CORNELIA. 

I  find  an  unfinished  letter  of  July  2,  without  ad- 
dress, from  which  I  copy  the  following  paragraphs: 

[191] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [ISM 

"  There  is,  in  the  early  death  of  a  Christian,  an  in- 
describable charm,  which  all  must  acknowledge  who 
behold.  To  retire  from  the  world  with  calm  dignity, 
at  the  moment  when  its  allurements  are  all  displayed 
to  fascinate  us ;  to  ascend  to  the  world  of  spirits,  the 
fresh  fragrance  of  youth  yet  unwasted,  the  soul  un- 
wedded  to  this  world,  and  glowing  with  devotion; 
to  be  admitted  to  the  celestial  assembly  of  perfected 
beings,  to  become  ourselves  angelic,  and  dwell  for- 
ever near  the  fountain  of  Felicity,  without  having 
encountered  the  dangers  and  the  miseries  of  a  long 
life,  without  having  died  a  thousand  times  in  those 
we  love, — is  not  this  a  boon  devoutly  to  be  wished? 
A  beneficent  Providence  has  accorded  this  distin- 
guishing favour  to  most  of  those  I  best  loved.  I 
never  lost  an  aged  friend.  My  father,  in  the  meridian 
of  life,  died  as  all  would  wish  to  die,  and  the  tombs 
of  the  friends  who  have  since  ascended  to  Heaven, 
bear  a  yet  earlier  date.  Far  from  anticipating  the 
long  life  of  those  dear  to  me,  I  do  not  even  ask  it; 
to  petition  for  their  health  is  all  I  dare.  With  such 
sentiments,  you  will  judge  the  friendships  I  contract 
must  be  for  eternity.  Not  one  have  I  formed,  since 
I  was  capable  of  deciding,  which  I  do  not  hope  will 
be  lasting  as  my  consciousness  of  existence ;  we  may 
pass  but  a  year,  a  month,  a  day,  together  on  earth, 
but  immortal  beings  may  expect  eternal  intercourse 
in  some  mansion  of  their  Heavenly  Father." 

Probably  written  to  Mr.  Rockwood: 

[192] 


1804]  CONCORD 

"Concord,  July  5th,  1804. 

"  Where  shall  I  address  myself  to  the  sage  who 
fled  the  dissipation  and  folly  of  Concord?  Is  he  an 
anchorite  on  the  woody  summit  of  Beacon  Hill,  hath 
he  sought  an  asylum  on  the  lonely  banks  of  the 
Charles,  or,  less  severe,  is  he  aiding  the  gentle  nymphs 
of  Salem  to  guard  their  fleecy  charge  ?  In  either  case, 
will  not  an  epistle  from  one  of  the  giddy  but  elegant 
and  dangerous  votaries  of  fashion,  be  deemed  imper- 
tinent? With  what  patience  can  he  support  such 
an  interruption  to  profound  meditation,  or  tranquil 
enjoyment?  Ah !  he  will,  doubtless,  consign  this  poor 
sheet  to  the  four  winds  of  Heaven,  for  having  the 
audacity  to  bear  on  its  surface  a  splendid  detail  of 
Plays  and  Concerts,  Balls  and  Routs, — and  of  what 
else  can  I  speak  from  the  centre  of  this  dazzling  me- 
tropolis ?  'T  is,  doubtless,  the  spirit  of  contradiction, 
so  congenial  with  my  sex,  that  induces  me  to  write 
at  this  time;  and  you  may  attribute  my  letter  to 
that — to  vanity — cruelty — or  any  other  commend- 
able motive  your  wisdom  shall  see  fit,  provided,  after 
all,  you  render  me  justice  by  believing,  with  all  my 
faults,  I  am  truly  gratified  to  know  your  health  and 
spirits  are  good." 

The  usual  tone  of  my  mother's  letters  is  so  serious 
and  earnest  that  we  welcome  one  which  brings  her 
before  us  in  her  more  playful  moods,  jesting  with  her 
friend,  as  we  may  suppose  her  to  have  done  in  the 
familiar  intercourse  of  daily  life. 

[193] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [ISM 

To  Ruth  Hurd : 

"Concord,  July  7th,  1804. 

"  How  have  you  borne  the  extreme  heat  of  this 
sultry  day,  my  dearest  Ruth?  The  spiritless  faces 
around  me,  and  my  own  languid  feelings,  demon- 
strate better  than  the  thermometer,  the  degree  of 
heat. 

"The  humiliation  your  letter  expresses,  my  dear 
Ruth,  I  have  felt,  I  do  feel  most  sensibly,  but  I  be- 
lieve it  has  its  origin  in  vanity.  (I  speak  of  that  hu- 
mility which  arises  from  a  consciousness  of  intellec- 
tual inferiority,  for  rarely  does  the  superior  goodness 
of  the  simple  and  inelegant  humble  us  painfully.} 
Those  feelings  of  self-abasement  which  place  us  at 
the  foot  of  the  cross,  which  lead  us  to  acknowledge 
ourselves  to  be  'poor,  and  miserable,  and  blind,  and 
naked,'  are  worthy  our  cultivation,  and  consistent 
with  the  character  of  fallen  creatures ;  they  are  far 
from  painful,  since  they  compel  us  to  place  our  whole 
dependence  on  the  merits  and  compassion  of  the  Re- 
deemer, and  make  'God  all  in  all.'  But,  tho'  it  is  our 
duty  to  acquire  a  knowledge  of  our  own  strength 
and  weakness,  we  should  riot  repine  if  we  discover 
ourselves  to  possess  but  one  talent ;  we  are  required 
to  cultivate  all  committed  to  our  charge,  and  to  rest 
content  and  grateful,  should  the  number  be  more  or 
less.  This,  my  dear  Ruth,  is  my  opinion.  In  practice 
I  am  very  deficient.  The  superiority  of  others  often 
draws  from  me  a  sigh  for  my  own  weakness  and  ig- 

[194] 


1804]  CONCORD 

norance,  and,  I  fear,  sometimes  produces  the  crim- 
inality and  folly  of  repining. 

"The  pain  in  my  side  which  writing  always  in- 
creases, obliges  me  to  conclude  with  an  affectionate 
remembrance  of  your  sister,  and  respects  to  your 
parents." 

To  Mr.  Rockwood: 

"Concord,  July  24th,  1804. 

"  Your  very  friendly  cautions  with  regard  to  my 
health,  I  accept  with  pleasure,  though  they  are  ren- 
dered unnecessary,  if  proofs  of  friendship  ever  can  be 
so,  by  renovated  strength.  I  am,  indeed,  so  far  re- 
covered I  forget  I  am  not  perfectly  well,  till  some 
little  exertion  reminds  me  of  my  promise  to  write 
little,  and  be  very  prudent,  the  remainder  of  the 
summer. 

"  Is  it  that  woman,  possessing  greater  susceptibil- 
ity, receives  impressions  more  easily  than  man, — or 
is  it  that  her  situation,  which  generally  precludes  a 
knowledge  of  the  world,  and  her  education,  which 
leads  her  far  from  the  study  of  the  human  heart,  ren- 
der her  more  credulous?  Whatever  may  be  the 
cause,  I  have  remarked  my  sex  to  form  decidedly 
favourable  opinions  of  strangers  far  more  readily 
than  yours.  Ann  Bromfield  and  Susan  Lowell  as- 
sured me  Mr.  P.  possessed  'exquisite,  unequivocal 
sensibility,  taste,  and  mental  elegance.'  His  class- 
mates express  a  different  opinion;  and  I  observed, 

[195] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [ISM 

on  the  Fourth  of  July,  the  Gentlemen  who  knew 
him  not  personally,  attributed  to  affectation  what 
the  Ladies  fancied  the  effect  of  feeling.  Who  is  it 
that  remarks  the  sexes  are  set  as  spies  on  each  other? 
I  'm  disposed  to  think  very  differently ;  all  rivalry  be- 
ing excluded,  I  think  we  judge  with  greater  candour 
and  generosity ;  and,  though  a  good  woman,  who  has 
not  been  a  critical  observer  of  others,  is  credulously 
kind  in  her  judgment  of  all,  she  remarks  faults  less 
readily  in  Man  than  Woman.  This  opinion  has  al- 
ways had  an  effect  on  my  feelings ;  among  strangers, 
I  am  far  more  at  ease  with  a  male,  than  female, 
critic." 

To  Ann  Bromfield: 

" Charlestown,  August  15th,  1804- 
"Each  day  confirms  my  belief  that  hope,  consid- 
ered in  reference  to  the  present  life,  is  a  treacherous 
illusion.  I  had  indulged  it  in  a  very,  very  slight  de- 
gree, when  I  thought  of  meeting  you,  dear  Ann,  in 
Charlestown,  and  now  rejoice  I  gave  it  not  more  un- 
limited empire.  My  disappointment  is  tempered  by 
an  assurance  of  your  health,  and  affectionate  remem- 
brance ;  for,  to  say  truth,  I  have  been  very  apprehen- 
sive about  the  former,  and  have  had  my  jealous  fears 
concerning  the  latter ;  but,  I  know  not  how  it  is,  when 
a  silence  of  two  or  three  months  has  made  me  a  little 
angry,  a  little  hurt,  and  very  sorrowful,  the  sight  of 
your  hand- writing  is  ever  a  sufficient  apology ;  and, 
before  I  have  read  your  letter,  I  am  convinced  I 

[196] 


1804]  CONCORD 

ought  to  esteem  you  more  highly  for  the  very  pain 
you  have  occasioned  me. 

"Three  weeks  have  I  been  in  this  place,  and,  till 
last  Sabbath,  I  scarcely  enjoyed  the  society  of  our 
inestimable  Susan  for  a  moment.  We  have  met  fre- 
quently in  parties,  and  even  to  see  her  has  given  me 
pleasure;  but  the  'flow  of  soul,'  the  rich  repast  of 
sentiment  and  feeling  was  reserved  for  the  last,  that 
it  might  be  the  most  indelibly  impressed  pleasure." 

To  Susan  Lowell: 

"Concord,  September  12th,  1804. 
"Are  you  too  ethereal  to  suffer  from  a  change  of 
weather?  Does  the  'sunshine  of  the  breast'  render 
you  insensible  to  the  cheerless  storm  ?  If  so,  I  would 
gladly  participate  in  an  exemption  from  the  only  al- 
loy to  the  enjoyment  of  Autumn.  The  Spring,  I 
think,  is  your  favourite  season ;  I  acknowledge  it  is 
unrivalled  in  beauty,  but  the  Autumn  revives  in  my 
mind  certain  remembrances,  and  awakens  a  train  of 
thought  and  feeling  more  tender  and  delightful  than 
I  have  the  power  to  express.  At  this  season,  when 
the  weather  is  fine,  the  heavens,  you  know,  are  pecu- 
liarly serene ;  when  I  have  been  gazing  at  the  setting 
sun  till  I  felt  my  soul  glow  with  gratitude  to  the 
Author  of  a  spectacle  so  grand  and  beautiful,  I  have 
sometimes  thought  natural  beauty  reflected  on  the 
mind  had  a  tendency  to  produce  moral  excellence; 
and,  for  this  reason,  as  well  as  for  the  immediate 
pleasure  resulting  from  it,  I  would  assiduously  cul- 

[197] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

tivate  a  taste  for  that  beauty  in  every  diversity  of 
form,  from  the  humble  wild-flower  to  the  majestic 
rising  and  setting  sun." 

Again: 

"Concord,  October  llth,  1804. 
"In  an  union  so  intimate  and  indissoluble,  more 
than  a  sense  of  duty  is  requisite ;  there  should  exist 
not  only  a  mutual  wish  to  please,  and  to  improve, 
but  an  affection  founded  on  esteem,  and  sympathy 
of  taste  and  feeling.  Though  constant  exertion  to 
promote  the  happiness  of  another  must  produce 
grateful  attachment,  yet  without  that  harmony,  the 
heart  will  mourn  in  secret." 

To  Mrs.  Lee: 

"Concord,  October  llth,  1804. 
"I  rejoice  to  learn,  not  only  from  yourself,  but 
Sal  In,  the  perfect  restoration  of  your  health.  At  this 
time,  I  can  perfectly  participate  in  your  feelings,  for 
I  am,  myself,  enjoying  renovated  strength  and  spir- 
its. I  had  scarcely  recovered  from  a  slight  lung-fever, 
which  left  me  unusually  debilitated,  when  I  made  a 
visit  to  a  relation  in  a  neighbouring  town.  The  fort- 
night I  passed  at  Sudbury  was  marked  by  a  kind  of 
enjoyment  to  which  I  have  been  a  stranger  the  last 
twelvemonth.  Almost  every  day,  I  spent  an  hour  or 
two  in  rambling  through  the  woods;  the  exercise, 
together  with  the  fresh  air  of  pine  and  walnut  woods, 
invigorated  my  frame,  while  the  solemn  tranquillity 

[198] 


1804]  CONCORD 

of  retired  solitude  breathed  a  correspondent  calm  in- 
to my  soul.  The  season  of  the  year,  too,  so  harmo- 
nized with  my  feelings ;  it  recalled  with  such  tender 
interest  the  remembrance  of 'days  that  are  past  for- 
ever,' and,  at  the  same  time,  animated  my  hopes  of 
'  endless  Spring  beyond  the  wintry  grave,'  that  I  have 
seldom  passed  hours  more  pleasantly  than  in  my  soli- 
tary walks." 

To  Ann  Bromfield: 

"Concord,  October  16th,  1804. 

"The  little  journey  to  Newbury  which  I  antic- 
ipated with  such  delight,  I  very  much  apprehend 
will  not  take  place  this*  Autumn.  We  have  just  re- 
ceived letters  from  Charlestown,  which  mention  the 
intention  of  some  of  our  cousins  to  pass  the  coming 
fortnight  with  us,  and,  I  fear,  the  season  will  then  be 
too  far  advanced  to  permit  Miss  Lowell  and  myself 
to  commence  the  journey  in  an  open  chaise  unat- 
tended. Not  that  I  apprehend  any  danger  for  my- 
self, but  I  fancy  our  friends,  Ann  included,  would 
pronounce  us  afflicted  with  some  kind  of  mental 
disease. 

"The  day  on  which  I  received  your  letter,  was 
marked  in  the  calendar  for  an  happy  one ;  it  not  only 
brought  me  intelligence  from  my  dear  Ann,  but  a 
kind  sheet  from  our  ever  interesting  Susan.  With 
the  many  other  pleasures  and  advantages  your  friend- 
ship has  procured  me,  I  remember,  with  grateful  af- 
fection, I  owe  to  it  an  acquaintance  with  a  family 

[199] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IBM 

that  combines  talents  the  most  brilliant  with  virtues 
the  most  rare ;  and,  what  is  yet  more  dear,  an  inter- 
est, however  small,  in  a  heart  which,  for  purity,  gen- 
erosity, humility,  and  tenderness,  is  scarcely  to  be 
paralleled." 

From  Ruth  Hurd  to  Mary  Van  Schalkwyck: 

"Charlestown,  November  6tk,  1804. 

"  I  was  rather  disappointed  in  the  general  society 
[of  Portsmouth] ;  it  was  neither  so  extensive,  nor  so 
polished,  as  I  expected  from  the  magnitude  of  the 
place.  They  are  uncommonly  social,  friendly,  and  at- 
tentive to  strangers ;  all  formality  was  banished  after 
the  first  introduction,  and  perfect  ease  and  good- 
humour  prevailed.  I  saw  little  that  distinguished 
New  Hampshire  from  Massachusetts, — indeed,  I 
think  the  habits,  etc.  of  the  New  England  States  very 
similar,  though  there  is  much  difference  between 
them  and  the  Southern. 

"The  fame  of  young  Buckminster  has,  no  doubt, 
reached  you, — he  is  the  reigning  favourite  of  the  day, 
and  certainly  his  talents  entitle  him  to  admiration, 
even  though  not  exercised  in  support  of  the  most 
sound  doctrine.  I  regret  extremely  that  he  is  not 
what  we  call  orthodox.  There  is,  however,  reason  to 
hope  for  a  happy  change,  as  he  is  by  no  means  big- 
oted, but  candidly  acknowledges  that  he  does  not 
feel  confirmed  in  his  present  opinions,  which,  I  think, 
incline  to  the  Sodnian.  His  father's  principles  are 

[200] 


1804]  CONCORD 

widely  opposite,  and  he  reluctantly  consented  to  his 
son's  delivering  sentiments  so  repugnant  to  his  ideas 
of  truth.  I  sincerely  pray  he  may  be  added  to  the  ad- 
vocates of  'pure  and  undefiled  religion,'  which  must 
give  a  force  to  his  eloquence  that  I  am  sure  the  most 
thoughtless  cannot  resist." 

To  Ruth  Kurd : 

"Concord,  Nov.  26th,  1804. 

"Next  to  wishing,  apologizing  is  the  most  foolish 
employment ;  candour  will  ever  accept  reformation, 
and,  without  reformation,  apology  is  but  a  proof  of 
insincerity  or  weakness.  I  certainly  did  not  intend  my 
dear  Ruth's  last  letter  should  remain  so  long  unan- 
swered, I  certainly  do  not  intend  to  observe  similar 
silence  in  future. 

"  Mr.  Buckminster  I  had  been  taught  to  admire  ere 
you  gave  him  the  meed  of  praise,  and  confirmed  me 
in  the  opinion  that  he  is  an  extraordinary  son  of  gen- 
ius. I  think,  with  you,  he  will  not  be  suffered  to  stray 
into  the  wilds  of  error ;  with  simple  and  upright  in- 
tentions, with  a  sincere  love  of  truth,  and  an  humble 
reliance  on  his  Heavenly  Guide,  there  can  exist  no 
doubt  of  his  being  enlightened  as  much  as  is  neces- 
sary for  his  own,  or  the  salvation  of  others.  Indeed, 
my  dear  Ruth,  when  we  reflect  on  the  many  saints 
of  different  religious  opinions — when  we  behold  the 
Church  of  Rome  embrace  a  Fenelon  and  a  Massillon ; 
the  Calvinists  boast  a  Saurin,aDoddridge,a  Flavel,  a 

[201] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

Witherspoon,  and  a  Wilberforce ;  the  Episcopalians  a 
Beveridge  and  Watson ;  the  Methodists  a  Whitefield ; 
and  the  Quakers  an  Anthony  Benezet,  and  a  War- 
ner Mifflin ;  while  the  admirable  Watts  and  Baxter 
classed  themselves  with  no  particular  sect,  but  char- 
itably laboured  for  the  good  of  all ;  it  would  seem  we 
must  be  indeed  blind  and  hard  of  heart,  not  to  be- 
lieve there  are  in  our  Heavenly  Father's  house '  many 
mansions,'  and  that  all  who  seek  the  truth  in  the  love 
of  it,  shall  be  received  to  some  part  of  the  glorious 
abode. 

"  Our  attention  has  been  very  much  engaged  the 
past  week  by  a  young  lady  who  is  with  us  on  a  visit. 
Harriet  White  of  Rutland,  formerly  of  Boston,  and 
a  pupil  of  Miss  Butler,  is  in  her  nineteenth  year.  For 
the  last  three  years,  a  disease  in  her  eyes  has  rendered 
her  almost  blind,  added  to  which,  an  affection  of  the 
nerves,  and  a  delicate  state  of  health,  has  produced 
a  continued  series  of  illness,  and  confinement ;  yet  has 
she  preserved  the  most  cheerful  resignation,  the  most 
patient  sweetness,  I  almost  ever  witnessed.  Ever 
wishing  to  be  pleased  and  to  communicate  pleasure, 
she  never  thinks  her  own  sufferings  an  excuse  for 
murmuring,  or  even  for  dejection.  It  is  impossible 
to  see  and  hear  her  without  being  moved,  and  I  think 
must  be  difficult  for  any  one  in  the  enjoyment  of 
health  to  contemplate  her  in  the  deprivation  of  it, 
without  being  touched  with  a  sense  of  their  cold  in- 
gratitude to  Him  who  maketh  them  to  differ" 

[202] 


1804]  CONCORD 

To  Susan  Lowell: 

"Novetnber  26th,  1804. 

"Yes,  my  friend,  I  think  perfectly  with  you, — ob- 
scurity should  veil  the  authoress  from  the  public  eye. 
That  her  works  be  justly  appreciated,  her  sex  must 
remain  unknown.  The  Lords  of  Creation  are  too  jeal- 
ous of  their  high  prerogative  to  suffer  a  woman  to  en- 
ter the  lists  of  fame  without  hurling  the  envenomed 
shafts  of  illiberal  and  cruel  criticism.  But,  methinks, 
when  conscious  of  the  power  to  enlighten  and  correct, 
she  should  risk  the  possibility  of  discovery,  and  nobly 
dare  to  do  as  well  as  to  be  good.  There  are  not  many 
of  our  sex  whose  situation  and  talents  combine  to 
make  this  a  duty.  Generally,  before  mental  maturity 
is  attained,  they  are  engaged  in  domestic  duties,  and 
engrossed  by  indispensable  cares;  but  where,  with 
cultivation  and  talents,  affluence  and  leisure  are 
united,  the  world,  in  general,  and  woman,  in  par- 
ticular, may  and  ought  to  prefer  their  claims." 

The  case  here  urged  by  my  mother  I  understand 
to  be  that  of  Miss  Ann  Lowell,  whose  intellectual 
powers  she  seems  to  have  regarded  with  profound 
respect  and  admiration,  as  did  all  of  that  period  who 
knew  her. 

Among  my  mother's  undated  papers  are  the  fol- 
lowing, which  perhaps,  from  their  subject,  should 
have  been  given  a  place  in  connection  with  her  jour- 
nal of  this  year. 

[203] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IBM 

"Let  your  morning  hours  be  devoted  to  prayer, 
reading,  and  study,  and  suffer  not  trifles  to  break  in 
upon, the  arrangements  you  have  made. 

"Accustom  yourself  to  frequent  use  of  the  pen. 
What  we  commit  to  paper  is  not  soon  forgotten. 

"  Be  careful  to  rise  early,  by  which  habit  you  will 
have  time  for  everything." 

With  the  above  I  find  the  following  prayer,  evi- 
dently her  own: 

"O  Father  of  universal  nature!  Thou  who  art 
everywhere  present!  Thou  beholdest  me,  Thy  crea- 
ture, laden  with  transgressions,  and  unworthy  to 
bow  before  Thee  who  art  infinitely  wise,  and  pow- 
erful, and  good.  O  Father,  wilt  Thou,  for  the  sake 
of  Jesus  Christ,  Thy  glorious  Son,  and  my  spotless 
Intercessor,  forgive  me !  Pardon  all  my  sins  of  omis- 
sion and  of  commission,  for  His  sake.  And  Oh,  wilt 
Thou  restrain  my  wandering  thoughts — fix  them  on 
Thee,  who  art  the  only  suitable  object  of  supreme 
attention  and  love.  Enable  me  to  see  Thee  as  Thou 
art,  infinite  in  every  perfection,  and  altogether  lovely. 
May  I  see  Thee  in  all  Thy  works,  and  in  all  Thy 
ways  acknowledge  Thee.  In  prosperity,  may  a  sense 
that  every  blessing  flows  from  Thy  hand  add  to  every 
enjoyment  incomparable  value.  In  adversity,  may 
the  assurance  that  sorrow,  as  well  as  joy,  flows  from 
Thy  hand,  and  that  Thou  inflictest  chastisements  on 
Thy  children  for  their  eternal  benefit,  render  me 

[204] 


1804]  CONCORD 

submissive  to  the  rod.  And  O  my  God!  grant  that 
in  life  and  in  death,  I  may  be  Thine.  Suffer  no  earthly 
object,  however  amiable,  to  steal  away  my  soul  from 
Thee,  but  wilt  Thou  reign  supreme  in  my  affections 
through  time  and  through  eternity." 

[205] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

1805 
CONCORD 

FTER  a  visit  in  Lancaster,  with  which  the  year 
1804  closed,  my  mother  wrote  as  follows  to 
Mrs.  Lee: 

"Concord,  Jan.  3rd,  1805. 

"  When  I  left  you,  I  was  half  determined  to  defer 
returning  to  Concord  until  Thursday ;  several  good 
reasons  combined  to  convince  me  I  ought  not  to 
change  my  resolution,  even  though  tempted  by  con- 
siderations the  most  alluring.  At  nine  o'clock  I  en- 
tered a  huge  close  sleigh,  which  conveyed .  to  my 
mind  a  lively  image  of  the  ark;  and,  allowing  the 
Pythagorean  system  to  be  true,  it  has  doubtless  been 
the  receptacle  of  every  variety  of  animal.  What 
strengthened  the  illusion  was  its  sickening  motion, 
which  so  affected  Miss  Channing,  that  she  was  half 
fainting  from  Lancaster  to  Stow.  Our  travelling  com- 
panions amused  themselves  with  agriculture  and  pol- 
itics,— but,  had  we  even  been  disposed  to  find  'good 
in  everything,'  our  utmost  ingenuity  could  scarce 
have  extracted  advantage  from  conversation  either 
local  or  common-place.  We  were,  however,  too  much 
engrossed  by  selfish  sufferings  to  pay  profound  at- 
tention to  the  Orators  of  the  day,  and,  of  course,  es- 
caped much  of  the  ennui  we  should  have,  otherwise, 

unavoidably  felt. 

[206] 


1805]  CONCORD 

"  I  found  my  friends,  as  I  left  them,  well,  and  all 
interested  in  making  inquiries  concerning  the  health 
and  spirits  of  my  dear  Elizabeth.  They  unite  in 
friendly  remembrances  to  both  my  friends.  Do  not 
let  Mrs.  S.  see  that  sentence ;  she  would  think  me 
quixotic  or  hypocritical  for  presuming  to  bestow  that 
epithet  on  angels,  if  I  had  not  known  them  a  long 
time. 

"  I  am  disposed  to  fill  this  sheet,  and  closely  too, 
but  am  surrounded  by  girls,  who  are  chatting  at  such 
a  rate  as  to  preclude  the  possibility  of  writing  two 
connected  sentences." 

To  Susan  Lowell: 

"Concord,  Jan.  3rd,  1805. 

"*  Write  me  all  about  yourself.'  Indeed,  my  dear 
Susan,  my  life  is  so  uniform,  my  employments,  my 
pleasures,  so  little  varied,  that  to  sketch  a  day  would 
be  to  describe  a  month.  In  the  wintry  season,  I  sel- 
dom quit  the  family  fireside  except  for  church,  or  an 
unceremonious  visit  at  the  Parsonage.  Books,  family 
conversation,  the  pen,  and  the  needle,  vary  my  oc- 
cupations; and,  though  they  would  not  shine  with 
splendour  on  the  page  of  history,  they  make  time 
pass  pleasantly,  and,  I  hope,  not  altogether  without 
improvement." 

To  Ruth  Kurd: 

"Concord,  Jan.  26th,  1805. 

"To  one  whose  life  passes  uniformly  as  your 
Mary's,  and  whose  little  circle  of  friends  is  ever  the 

[207] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [iws 

same,  your  animated  description  of  new  characters 
is  doubly  grateful.  You  have,  my  sweet  friend,  a 
golden  opportunity  to  obtain  a  knowledge  of  the 
world  without  being  greatly  in  danger  of  contam- 
ination. Improve  it,  and  let  no  character,  no  event, 
escape  you  unnoticed ;  but,  above  all  things,  attend 
to  your  own  heart, — watch  those  serpents  that  are 
ever  ready  to  entwine  even  around  our  virtues, — 
that  pride,  which  assumes  the  front  of  noble  inde- 
pendence, that  vanity  which  wears  the  mask  of  a  be- 
nevolent solicitude  to  please.  These,  and  other  dan- 
gerous passions,  are  the  growth  of  every  human 
heart,  and  to  repress  them  should  be  the  warfare  of 
our  lives.  Nor  is  it  enough  to  repress  them,  unless 
we  cultivate  in  their  stead  the  opposite  virtues.  Par- 
don me,  my  dear  Ruth,  if  I  assume  the  monitorial 
style.  Were  I  placed  in  your  situation,  I  should  much 
require  your  friendly  counsel." 

To  Ann  Bromfield: 

"Concord,  February  16th,  1805. 
"Since  we  parted,  I  have  been  constantly  engaged 
at  the  Parsonage,  and  with  my  Father,  who  has  been 
seriously  indisposed.  During  several  days,  we  appre- 
hended a  nervous  fever;  the  most  alarming  symp- 
toms have  now  disappeared,  and  we  trust  he  is  con- 
valescent. Sarah,  in  whose  health  you  have  kindly 
expressed  an  interest,  is  not  essentially  better.  She 
is  now  attended  by  Miss  Emerson,  whose  watchful 
attention  to  all  the  little  wants  and  comforts  of  an 

[208] 


1805]  CONCORD 

invalid,  together  with  her  sublime  views  of  immor- 
tality, render  her  peculiarly  fitted  for  her  charge. 

"There  are  few  offices  so  delicate  and  so  difficult 
to  discharge  as  that  of  garde-malade.  Mary  Emer- 
son possesses  just  the  firm  decision,  the  patient  vig- 
ilance, the  animating  faith,  and  enlivening  vivacity 
of  mind  and  manner,  that  fit  her  for  it.  Had  I  the 
eloquence  of  Ann  Lowell,  I  would  describe  the  in- 
fluence of  religion  on  the  mind,  the  temper,  and  the 
life  of  this  uncommon  woman ;  as  it  is,  I  despair  do- 
ing justice  to  her.  The  expiration  of  vacation  has 
deprived  us  of  our  Mercury.  Since  the  illness  of 
Papa,  he  has  been  literally  a  messenger;  he  has  be- 
come almost  too  necessary  to  the  happiness  of  his 
sister,  the  gloom  of  whose  confinement  he  has  gilded 
with  the  sunshine  of  his  mind  and  heart.  Alas,  my 
friend!  the  danger  there  is  in  the  most  innocent  of 
all  attachments !  fraternal  love,  while  it  twines  around 
the  heart-strings,  prepares  the  poison  of  anxiety,  dis- 
appointed hope,  and  fond  regret,  for  the  remainder 
of  life.  I  never  see  my  friends  Sarah  and  Daniel, 
without  a  recollection  that  penetrates  my  soul ;  and, 
at  such  times,  the  only  balm  is  faith  in  the  Wisdom 
and  Goodness  of  Omnipotence." 

To  Susan  Lowell: 

"Concord,  March  18th,  1805. 

"And  now,  how  shall  I  express  my  admiration  of 
your  sentiments,  acknowledge  my  sense  of  their  just- 
ness, and  yet  defend  the  wish  to  deviate  from  them  ? 

[209] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [i«u 

I  confess  it  was  my  wish — it  has  been  my  design  to 
become  a  member  of  the  Society  in  Bethlehem.  By 
a  concurrence  of  Providential  afflictions,  I  found  my- 
self, at  an  age  when  others  are  just  commencing  their 
career,  apparently  at  the  close  of  mine.  When  I  lost 
the  three  natural  protectors  God  accords  to  woman, 
— Husband,  Father,  Brother, — methought  it  was  for 
no  ordinary  purpose  I  was  thus  afflicted,  the  fairest 
blossoms  of  human  hope  blighted,  and  the  tenderest 
ties  of  humanity  broken.  I  believed  my  Heavenly 
Father  was  disconnecting  me  with  earth,  that  I  might 
be  wholly  devoted  to  Him.  Till  then,  though  I  thought 
myself  a  Christian,  my  heart,  my  hope,  my  joy,  was 
all  of  this  world.  But,  when  I  began  to  consider  the 
present  life  as  the  infancy  of  existence,  in  which  I 
was  to  be  educated  for  eternity;  when  I  saw  and  felt 
that  the  title  of  Christian  was  synonymous  with  that 
of  combatant,  and  implied  the  necessity  of  encoun- 
tering hosts  of  external  and  internal  foes ;  I  thought 
it  my  duty  to  avail  myself  of  the  liberty  Providence 
had  granted  me,  to  retire  to  a  situation  fraught  with 
richer  advantages,  and  blest  with  greater  security, 
than  any  other  I  could  imagine.  And,  in  this,  I 
thought  not  to  violate  my  filial  duties.  I  should  not 
have  bound  myself  indissolubly  to  the  Society, — I 
should  have,  annually,  passed  some  weeks  with  my 
mother,  who  is  happy  in  her  family,  and  who  would, 
at  any  time,  possess  the  power  of  recalling  her  child. 
You  will  recollect  that,  were  I  engaged  in  domestic 
life,  it  would  be  impossible  to  remain  with  her,  and 

[210] 


1805]  CONCORD 

I  should,  probably,  be  far  less  at  liberty  to  devote 
myself  to  her,  should  such  devotion  be  necessary  to 
her  happiness.  Were  I  at  leisure,  I  could  adduce 
many  arguments  in  support  of  my  favourite  plan, 
but  I  am  not, — and  will  only  assure  you  that,  since  I 
have  discovered  that  by  carrying  it  into  execution, 
I  should  deeply  pain  my  Parent,  who  does  not  think 
my  improvement  would  be  proportionate  to  the  sac- 
rifices I  must,  in  her  opinion,  make, — I  have  resigned 
it.  Nor  should  I  at  this  time,  my  dear  Susan,  have 
wearied  you  with  this  egotism,  had  not  your  letter 
insensibly  drawn  me  into  a  defence  of  my  late  in- 
tention." 

To  Ann  Bromfield: 

"Concord,  March  25th,  1805. 

"The  'Life  of  Richardson,'  by  Mrs.  Barbauld,— 
what  a  treasure,  my  dear  Ann !  The  subject  was  wor- 
thy the  Biographer. 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  interesting  sketch  of  Mrs. 
Klopstock,  which  has  awakened  curiosity  to  know 
more  of  her.  That  she  possessed  a  pure  and  feeling 
heart,  and  a  refined  taste,  is  very  evident ;  she  was  the 
beloved  of  Klopstock.  But  what  were  the  peculiar- 
ities of  her  mind,  what  were  her  habits,  what  her  edu- 
cation; all,  but  particularly  the  two  first,  are  inter- 
esting enquiries. 

"Miss  Emerson  has  been  seriously  indisposed,  and 
I  do  not  believe  any  ancient  Philosopher  ever  sus- 
tained pain  with  greater  heroism.  It  certainly  is  a 

[211] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IMS 

privilege  to  witness  the  elevated  height  to  which 
faith  and  habits  like  hers  may  conduct  a  frail  and 
sensitive  woman.  Unwilling  that  matter  should  for 
a  moment  triumph  over  mind,  in  proportion  as  the 
sufferings  of  the  former  increased,  she  endeavoured 
to  interest  the  latter  in  reading  or  conversation. 

*  Why,'  she  would  say,  '  should  we  lose  any  portion 
of  existence  which  may  be  improved  or  enjoyed?' 
And  in  this  she  is  simple  and  true ;  her  Philosophy, 
like  her  Religion,  is  sincere  and  unostentatious.  She 
does  not  waste  a  wish  on  admiration, — the  applause 
of  the  world  appears  to  her  an  object  too  inconsid- 
erable to  engross  the  thoughts  of  an  immortal." 

To  Susan  Lowell: 

"April  1st,  1805. 

"  I  regret  that,  with  your  ardent  love  of  this  an- 
imating season,  you  should  quit  the  country;  our 
meadows  are  becoming  verdant,  we  have  the  morn- 
ing song  of  birds,  and  the  evening  hymn  of  frogs, — 
both  harmonize  perfectly  with  the  hours  they  cel- 
ebrate. Tell  me,  does  the  pathos  of  Cooper,  and  the 
voice  of  artful  music,  compensate  for  this  loss  ?  You 

*  retained  your  senses,'  after  listening  to  Cooper! 
Tell  it  not  in  Gath — your  reputation  for  taste  could 
never  survive  such  an  avowal;  if  you  are  really  so 
outre,  conceal  it,  lest  the  beau-monde,  which  has 
hitherto  imagined  Susan  L.  to  be  a  civilized  being, 
should  pronounce  her  a  mere  barbarian.  Should 
Washington  arise  from  his  grave,  think   you  he 

[212] 


1805]  CONCORD 

would  excite  greater  enthusiasm,  or  should  Napo- 
leon invade  our  country,  would  the  public  be  more 
agitated  than  by  this  celebrated  actor?" 

To  Mrs.  Lee: 

"Concord,  May  4th,  1805. 

"Let  me  again  thank  you  for  the  loan  of  Euler. 
You  do  not  know  how  precious  an  obligation  you 
have  conferred  on  me,  unless  you  have  received  as 
much  pleasure  from  his  ingenious  and  admirable 
work  as  it  has  yielded  me.  Euler  shines  with  con- 
spicuous splendour  in  the  constellation  of  sublime 
Philosophers  and  profound  Mathematicians,  but  his 
most  resplendent  rays  proceed  from  the  principle  of 
piety  that  animated  his  soul.  I  shall  not  rest  till  I 
make  some  part  of  his  ideas  my  own.  They  can,  in- 
deed, scarcely  pass  through  the  mind,  without  leav- 
ing it  wiser  and  better." 

Mrs.  Lee,  in  reply,  says : 

"Lancaster,  May  19th. 

"This  is  the  first  time  Euler  has  been  borrowed 
of  me,  and  happy  I  am  to  find  one  who  enjoys 
equally  with  myself  a  work,  as  they  say,  so  very  dry 
and  tedious." 

The  following  letters  are  from  my  mother  to  her 
youngest  stepbrother,  Benjamin  Hurd : 

"Concord,  May  15th,  1805. 

"As  you  neither  came  nor  wrote  yesterday,  my 
dear  Benjamin,  we  conclude  you  determine  to  see 

[213] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isos 

us  no  more  till  you  return  from  France.  Painful  as 
we  find  this  idea,  it  is  perhaps  less  so  than  a  formal 
leave-taking.  Accept,  before  you  quit  your  country, 
an  affectionate  adieu  from  your  sister  Mary,  accom- 
panied by  a  few  lines  of  serious  and  sincere  advice. 

"I  am  acquainted  with  the  habits,  the  manners, 
and  the  customs  of  the  People  among  whom  you 
are  going  to  reside ;  I  know  the  fascination  of  their 
social  powers,  the  enchantment  of  their  elegant  and 
varied  amusements ;  and  I  know,  likewise,  how  fatal 
to  Religion,  how  destructive  to  the  pure  Morality 
of  the  Gospel,  is  a  life  devoted  to  them.  True,  virtue 
and  vice  are  found  among  every  People, — they  are 
confined  to  no  nation  or  clime — but,  without  big- 
otry, I  think  I  may  securely  say,  in  every  Christian 
country,  the  Sabbath  is  the  standard  by  which  to 
judge  of  national  correctness.  If  that  is  devoted  to 
Him  who  claims  it  for  His  own,  and  to  a  contem- 
plation of  the  sublime  truths  contained  in  His  Word, 
— we  may  be  confident  virtue  rests  on  a  solid  basis; 
but,  if  the  reverse  is  the  picture  of  truth,  we  must 
be  cautious  in  confiding,  and  scrupulous  in  avoiding 
imitation. 

"  In  addition  to  the  Bible,  you  will  provide  your- 
self a  few  books  of  Devotion  and  Morality;  for  my 
part,  I  would  particularly  recommend  some  com- 
pendious work  illustrative  of  the  truth  of  Christian- 
ity. For  instance,  either  Lord  Lyttelton's  'Conver- 
sion of  St.  Paul,'  Watson's  'Apology  for  the  Bible,' 
or  Bonnet's  'Interesting  Views  of  Christianity.'  But, 

[214] 


CONCORD 

above  all,  I  would  recommend  prayer ;  God  will  never 
give  you  up  to  infidelity,  so  long  as  you  feel  the  ne- 
cessity of  a  Mediator  and  Saviour,  and  pray  that 
your  faith  in  Him  may  be  strengthened. 

"  I  have  said  nothing  of  the  practice  of  Morality, 
because,  in  my  opinion,  it  cannot  be  separated  from 
Religion.  Whoever  is  sincerely  pious,  will  be  truly 
virtuous.  Be  assured,  that  Religion  which  does  not 
make  men  more  benevolent,  upright,  just,  charitable, 
temperate  and  pure,  is  either  false,  or  hypocritical. 
And  be  likewise  certain,  that  Morality,  which  is  un- 
supported by  Religion,  like  the  house  built  on  the 
sand,  will  fall  with  the  rising  tempest. 

"Write  frequently,  be  cautious  in  choosing  your 
society,  regular  in  your  hours,  modest  and  decent 
in  your  dress  and  appearance,  and  do  not  forget  your 
affectionate  sister  and  friend, 

MARY  VAN  SCHALKWYCK. 

"  Don't  forget  tamarinds,  oranges  and  lemons,  ca- 
pers, and  cream  of  tartar, — you  will  wish  for  all  on 
your  voyage." 

To  Benjamin  Hurd: 

"Concord,  June  28th,  1805. 

"When  you  receive  this,  my  dear  Brother,  you 
will  probably  be  surrounded  by  the  ambitious,  the 
busy,  and  the  gay,  whose  ardent  pursuit  of  their  fa- 
vourite object  leaves  little  leisure  for  serious  reflec- 
tion on  the  grand  purposes  of  Man's  creation.  But 

[215] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [ims 

you,  my  Brother,  will  never,  I  trust,  forget  that  the 
' 'fashion  of  this  world  passeth  away,'  and  we  are  pass- 
ing away  with  it ;  but  that,  transitory  as  is  the  pres- 
ent life,  it  is  the  vestibule  through  which  we  pass  into 
the  Temple  of  Eternity;  and  this  latter  considera- 
tion, I  am  confident,  must  and  will  chasten  every 
thought,  every  wish,  every  pursuit.  Oh,  let  nothing 
be  done  for  which  you  should,  as  an  immortal  being, 
blush!" 

To  Susan  Lowell: 

"Concord,  July  3rd,  1805. 

"With  heartfelt  joy,  I  offer  my  felicitations  on 
the  return  of  your  brother,  dearest  Susan.  May  this 
happy  event  be  the  prelude  to  similar  scenes,  and 
each  give  you  a  faint  image  of  a  more  perfect  re- 
union. I  know,  indeed,  if  there  be  a  bliss  on  earth 
that  rises  to  suffering,  't  is  that  of  meeting  a  dear, 
long  absent  friend.  Our  capacity  to  enjoy  must  be 
astonishingly  strengthened  beyond  the  grave,  my 
dear  Susan,  or  we  could  never  sustain  the  ecstasy 
of  meeting  all  we  love,  Divine  and  human.  Nothing 
conveys  to  me  a  more  exalted  idea  of  the  perfection 
we  shall  acquire,  than  our  possessing  the  power  to 
enjoy  supreme  happiness" 

Among  the  papers  left  by  my  mother,  and  care- 
fully preserved  by  my  father,  is  a  half-sheet  contain- 
ing a  diary  of  several  days,  written  in  July,  1805, 
parts  of  which  I  copy,  as  follows : 

[216] 


1805]  CONCORD 

"6th.  The  heat  of  the  three  last  days  intense,  com- 
pany, etc.  How  does  the  week  close  ?  Alas !  I  have 
indulged  far  too  much  the  indolence  of  summer  feel- 
ings. Except  a  little  devotional  reading,  have  read 
nothing  but  works  of  imagination,  and  some  pages 
in  Martin's  'Philosophical  Grammar.'  Perhaps,  how- 
ever, Campbell's  'Travels'  do  not  rank  with  works 
of  imagination.  This  is  certain, — I  ought  to  have  ex- 
erted more  energy;  and  what  attainments,  moral 
and  intellectual,  might  I  have  made!  May  present 
regret  conduct  to  future  wisdom ! 

"7th.  Had  we  not  innumerable  proofs  of  the  in- 
finite benevolence  of  our  Heavenly  Father,  and  Sa- 
viour, the  institution  of  the  Sabbath  and  the  Lord's 
Supper  would  carry  conviction  to  every  heart  that 
had  experienced  the  blessed  effects  of  both.  Bless  the 
Lord,  O  my  soul,  and  all  that  is  within  me  bless 
and  praise  His  holy  name! 

"8th.  Doddridge  recommends  aspirations  of  grat- 
itude in  morning  devotion, — confession  and  peni- 
tence at  night,  and  this  seems  the  rational  order  of 
erring  and  dependent  creatures ;  but,  for  myself,  hu- 
miliation and  supplication  are  most  voluntary  in  the 
first, — grateful  adoration  and  thanksgiving,  with 
confession,  in  the  last. 

"13th.  Received  several  interesting  letters, — one 
from  Madame  Lambert,  who,  on  account  of  her  hus- 
band's health,  returns  to  the  West  Indies,  with  a 
view  of  passing  the  remainder  of  her  life  there.  It 
affected  me  deeply,  but  I  recovered  composure  and 

[217] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

happiness  by  perusing  the  37th,  38th,  and  39th  verses 
of  the  8th  chapter  of  Romans,  and  by  committing 
her  to  God  in  Jesus  Christ. 

"14th. '  Being  justified  by  faith,  we  have  peace  with 
God,  through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.'  How  enlight- 
ening and  consoling  is  the  whole  of  this  chapter,  5th 
of  Romans!  Redemption  is  indeed  a  mystery  into 
which  angels  may  desire  to  look.  Like  the  Pillar  of 
Fire,  it  enlightens  all  objects,  while  itself,  by  its  daz- 
zling brightness,  remains  impenetrable  to  human 
scrutiny." 

To  Ann  Bromfield: 

"Concord,  July  15th,  1805. 

"I  have  not  told  you  with  what  feelings  I  heard 
the  pious  Channing,  for  the  first  time,  explain  the 
extent,  and  fervently  urge  the  performance  of  duty, 
from  Psalm  119.  'Thy  commandment  is  exceeding 
broad.'  If  it  be  the  soul  of  eloquence  to  penetrate  the 
heart,  to  arouse  or  to  subdue,  to  humble  or  to  elevate 
its  feelings,  then  Channing  is  most  eloquent.  And  his 
is  not  the  art  of  the  Orator, — it  is  evidently  derived 
from  an  intimate  acquaintance  with  his  own  heart, 
and  habitual  intercourse  with  the  Father  of  Light 
and  Love." 

After  a  visit  in  Charlestown,  my  mother  writes  to 
Miss  Lowell: 

"Concord,  September  6,  1805. 
"My  little  journey  homeward  was  as  pleasant  as 
a  brilliant  sun,  clouds  of  dust,  and  a  crowded  stage 

[218] 


1805]  CONCORD 

would  permit.  As  we  entered  Lincoln,  the  sun  set 
gloriously,  surrounded  by  clouds  of  gold  and  crim- 
son. I  could  not  but  fancy  such  a  scene  might  arouse 
even  the  slumbering  muse  of  Mr.  G.  The  evening 
soon  became  damp,  and,  unprepared  for  the  change, 
I  caught  a  violent  cold,  which  has  affected  me  un- 
pleasantly ever  since." 

To  Ann  Bromfield: 

"Concord,  Oct.  12th,  1805. 

"After  a  Summer  of  debility,  Autumn  wakes  the 
spirit  to  new  life, — its  breezes  restore  the  languid 
frame,  its  serenity  pervades  the  soul,  and  capacitates 
it  to  see  more  clearly,  and  feel  more  forcibly,  the  beau- 
ties of  Nature,  sentiment,  and  taste.  Perhaps,  at  any 
other  season  I  should  not  admire  so  much  the  appear- 
ance of  an  elm  which  fronts  my  window.  Probably  its 
youth,  and  expanded  branches,  which  equally  expose 
every  part  to  early  frost,  occasion  the  sudden  change 
of  its  foliage  from  green  to  yellow,  without  any  in- 
termediate shade,  while  other  trees  are  glorying  in 
verdure,  or  reluctantly  resigning  leaf  after  leaf.  This 
has  a  charming  effect.  At  the  first  coup  (Tceil,  one 
imagines  a  golden  setting  sun  is  lavishing  his  whole 
splendour  on  that  single  object, — the  entire  tree  ap- 
pears gilt.  Notwithstanding  the  frequency  with  which 
I  see  it,  I  am  often  surprised,  on  raising  my  eyes  sud- 
denly, with  the  idea  of  sunset.  And  when  shall  I  be 
surprised  by  a  letter  from  Ann?  You  cannot  imag- 
ine me  indifferent  to  the  smallest  occurrence  that  in- 

[219] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IMS 

terests  you,  and  I  am  ignorant  of  almost  everything, 
even  the  place  of  your  abode. 

"Have  you  seen  Cooper  this  season?  Do  gratify 
me  by  saying  you  do  not  intend  to  see  him  frequently. 
I  really  fear  to  visit  Charlestown  or  Boston,  lest  the 
fascination  of  'Richard  Third,'  'Othello,'  or  'Ham- 
let,' should  draw  me  to  the  theatre." 

She  then  speaks  of  Mr.  Hoar  as  "characterized  by 
integrity,  frankness,  candid  opinions,  and  benevolent 
feelings." 

And  again,  in  a  letter  to  Miss  Lowell  of  near  the 
same  date,  she  says : "  Mr.  Hoar  has  just  left  us,  after 
passing  an  hour  or  two,  and  awakening  many  inter- 
esting recollections  of  the  past  Summer.  This  young 
man  is  a  valuable  acquisition.  In  any  society  he  would 
be  considered  such, — but  in  our  little  village,  his 
'price  is  above  rubies.'  He  mentioned  Mr.  Rogers' 
intention  to  oblige  me  by  White's  oration ;  when  you 
see  our  friend,  thank  him  for  the  intention,  which  I 
receive  as  the  pledge  of  performance." 

Here  we  have  my  mother's  first  mention  of  my 
father's  name,  which  is  repeated  in  her  next  date,  ad- 
dressed to  Miss  Lowell: 

"Concord,  Oct.  12th,  1805. 

"  I  thank  you  for  mentioning  the  Oration  which 
reached  me  last  week.  The  healthful  mind  and  heart 
will  find  it  a  rich  repast.  It  is  worthy  of  White." 

[220] 


1805]  CONCORD 

To  Mr.  Rogers,  who  was  the  intimate  friend  of  my 
father,  she  writes  as  follows: 

"Concord,  Oct.  21st,  1805. 

"Mr.  Rogers  has  indeed  conferred  an  obligation 
on  me  in  the  oration  of  his  friend.  The  performance 
bears  the  impress  of  the  author's  mind  and  heart, 
sound,  perspicuous,  delicate  and  benevolent, — such, 
at  least,  I  have  ever  supposed  the  one  and  the  other. 
In  the  friendship  of  such  a  man,  you  possess  a  treas- 
ure. Long  may  he  live,  improving  and  improved,  to 
communicate  arid  receive  happiness. 

"I  am  delighted  to  learn  'the  desert  smiles  again.' 
I  am  surprised  you  can,  for  a  moment,  regret  the  un- 
interesting bustle  of  New  York.  But,  to  be  serious, 
(and  pardon  me  if  mistaken  wishes  for  your  happi- 
ness render  me  too  much  so,)  I  was  grieved  to  find 
in  your  letter  an  expression  of  the  same  ennui,  and 
indifference  to  life  which  alarmed  me  in  Charlestown. 
As  a  man  of  good  sense,  of  cultivation,  of  respect- 
able rank  in  society,  is  this  despondence  reasonable  ? 
As  a  son,  a  brother,  a  friend,  is  it  right?  As  a  Chris- 
tian,is  its  indulgence  pardonable?  How  many  sources 
of  felicity  even  in  this  world  are  open  to  you!  Who 
can  better  taste  the  delights  of  science,  literature,  and 
elegant  society  ?  And,  as  a  Christian,  an  immortal  who 
believes  the  present  life  to  be  but  the  dawn  of  being, 
— but  a  nursery  for  eternity — Oh,  you  cannot  re- 
gard it  lightly !  It  is  a  path,  rugged  indeed,  but  ter- 

[221] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IMS 

minating  in  glory,  honour,  immortality.  Should  not 
the  celestial  rays  emanating  from  the  crown  that 
awaits  the  conqueror,  shed  lustre  over  the  deepest 
shades  of  life,  and  animate  the  combatant  to  'perse- 
vere even  unto  the  end '  ?  For  myself,  whatever  may 
be  the  afflictions  that  wound,  or  the  disappointments 
that  deject  me,  I  supplicate  Heaven  never  to  suffer 
an  impatience  of  life,  till  I  have  subdued  every  evil, 
and  perfected  every  good  quality, — which  period,  I 
know,  will  never  arrive.  You  will  not  deem  this  arro- 
gance; you  know  the  motive  whence  it  proceeds." 

To  Ruth  Kurd: 

"Concord,  November  23rd,  1805. 
"Not  the  recollection  of  a  certain  three  months' 
silence,  not  the  gentle  glow  of  friendly  resentment, 
which  such  a  cause  might  be  conjectured  to  originate, 
nor  yet  a  diminution  of  interest  in  your  happiness, 
or  tenaciousness  of  your  affection,  my  dear  Ruth,  has 
caused  this  sleep  of  the  pen.  What  then  ?  Why,  vari- 
ous intruders,  my  dear, — some  in  the  form  of  winter 
robes,  neckerchiefs,  etc.,  others  assumed  the  more  se- 
rious appearance  of  visiting  volumes,  to  be  returned 
after  perusal ;  and  others,  more  interesting,  wore  the 
visage  of  long  absent  friends.  Among  the  latter,  Mr. 
Frisbie  would  claim  a  conspicuous  place,  could  his 
presence,  at  any  time,  be  deemed  an  intrusion  by  those 
who  know  his  rare  character,  rendered  more  than  ever 
interesting  by  affliction,  and  its  usual  effect,  a  diviner 

[222] 


1805]  CONCORD 

lustre  of  piety.  His  health  is  not  good,  and  his  eyes 
still  debilitated,  but  never  did  the  acuteness,  the  just- 
ness, the  elegance  of  his  highly  cultured  mind,  never 
did  the  delicacy,  the  refinement,  and  elevation  of  his 
feelings  appear  more  refulgent;  and  never  did  the 
spirit  of  religion  appear  more  completely  infused 
through  the  whole  mind  and  heart." 

To  Mary  Emerson: 

"Concord,  7th  December,  1805. 
"To  a  mind  but  little  accustomed  to  the  abstrac- 
tion of  metaphysical  disquisition,  a  minute  attention 
to  the  finest  links  that  unite  the  chain  of  reasoning 
is  essential.  When  to  this  observation,  I  add — my 
dear  Mary  writes  too  much  like  other  great  people, 
to  be  always  legible,  she  will  not  be  surprised  when 
I  acknowledge  I  have  not  enjoyed  the  whole  of  her 
valuable  manuscript.  Let  me  render  myself  justice, 
however,  by  saying  I  was  particularly  gratified  by 
Drew's  idea  of  the  Soul,  and  most  of  the  arguments 
I  comprehended,  in  favour  of  its  immortality  and 
ceaseless  consciousness,  appeared  to  me  conclusive. 
If  it  is  in  my  power  to  procure  the  volume,  I  shall 
not  fail  to  do  it." 

[223] 


CHAPTER  IX 

1806 
CONCORD 

WE  have  now  brought  my  mother's  record  to 
the  year  1806,  memorable  as  the  year  which, 
during  its  closing  months,  witnessed  her  introduc- 
tion and  growing  attachment  to  my  father. 

Her  earliest  date  of  this  year  is  in  a  letter  to  her 
friend  Mrs.  Lee,  to  whom  she  writes  after  an  inter- 
val of  several  months,  in  the  course  of  which,  it  ap- 
pears, Mrs.  Lee  has  received  a  large  accession  of 
fortune. 

"Concord,  January  10th9  1806. 
"  1  know  not  if  I  ought  to  present  my  congratu- 
lations or  condolence  on  the  change  in  your  situ- 
ation. With  the  bauble  splendour  of  wealth,  I  know 
you  could  easily  dispense;  possessing  resources  of 
heart  and  understanding  which  render  you  inde- 
pendent of  external  pomp  and  pleasure,  you  would, 
perhaps,  have  been  equally  happy  in  the  tranquillity 
of  Lancaster,  as  in  the  brilliant  scenes  of  Cambridge 
and  the  Metropolis.  But  an  accession  of  fortune  is 
an  increase  of  power  to  diffuse  happiness,  to  dimin- 
ish human  woe,  to  discountenance  vice,  and  abash 
folly.  I  think  with  pride  and  pleasure  that,  by  your 
influence  in  the  circle  in  which  you  move,  it  may 

[224] 


1806]  CONCORD 

become  fashionable  to  be  a  good  wife  and  an  atten- 
tive mother;  and  therefore,  on  the  whole,  though 
my  friend  may  be  wearied  by  company,  and  dis- 
gusted by  the  vain  and  the  weak,  I  shall  be  well 
pleased  with  knowing  she  presides  in  a  splendid 
mansion,  and  rides  in  a  coach — circumstances  which 
will  render  those  opinions  and  that  conduct  subject 
to  observation,  and  perhaps  imitation,  which  would 
otherwise  have  passed  unnoticed. 

"  I  will  send  Darwin  to  our  amiable  friend  by  the 
first  opportunity.  It  was  not  till  September  I  received 
it  from  Acton,  and  then,  I  fancy,  not  in  precisely 
the  state  in  which  you  loaned  it.  I  thank  you  for  it. 
The  notes  yield  amusement  and  instruction,  but  the 
poem  appears  to  me  too  visionary  and  florid.  Some 
of  his  philosophical  ideas,  too,  are  absurd,  some  beau- 
tiful, and  highly  satisfactory." 

To  Miss  Bromfield: 

"Concord,  Jan.  18th,  1806. 

"You  will  not  be  surprised  to  learn  that  Mr.  Hoar 
rises  in  our  estimation  in  exact  proportion  to  the 
frequency  of  his  visits, — for  every  visit  unfolds  some 
new,  or  confirms  some  previously  discovered,  excel- 
lence. Possessing  that  genuine  dignity  of  character 
which  is  the  result  of  a  sound,  enlightened  under- 
standing, and  a  heart  of  incorruptible  integrity,  he 
commands  esteem;  while  the  candour  of  his  opin- 
ions, and  the  benevolence  of  his  feelings,  inspire  in- 
voluntary friendship." 

[225] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [UMM 

To  Susan  Lowell: 

"Jan.  23rd,  1806. 

"Poor  -  — !  He  is  ill  formed  to  buffet  the  tur- 
bulent sea  on  which  he  has  embarked ;  this  he  knows, 
and,  wrapping  himself  in  the  mantle  of  reserve,  seeks 
security  in  concealment.  Is  there  any  event,  dear 
Susan,  from  which  a  susceptible  heart  may  not  ex- 
tract pain, — either  by  reflexion  or  anticipation, — if 
the  habit  of  dwelling  on  the  shades  of  life  be  once 
established  ?  Montesquieu's  nature,  or,  I  suspect,  his 
habit,  was  the  reverse  of  this.  You  recollect  he  ob- 
serves, 'I  have  sensibility  enough  to  enjoy  all  the 
pleasures,  but  not  enough  to  suffer  the  pains  of  re- 
finement.'" 

The  following,  to  Miss  Lowell,  evidently  refers 
to  my  mother's  correspondence  with  Mr.  Frisbie: 

"Concord,  Feb.  5th,  1806. 

"Again,  and  most  sincerely,  I  thank  you,  dear 
Susan,  for  an  admonition  which  friendship  only  could 
originate.  Your  sentiments  are  just ;  I  am  convinced 
the  dangers  you  portray  are  not  imaginary.  Afflic- 
tive circumstances  alone  have  induced  me  to  con- 
tinue the  correspondence  you  deprecate,  the  last  six 
months.  To  my  dear  Susan's  heart  I  appeal ;  let  that 
decide  if,  in  the  present  pressure  of  domestic  and 
personal  woe,  I  should  deprive  F.  of  the  sole  friend 
to  whom  his  feelings  are  communicated.  His  father, 
I  am  told,  is  fast  declining, — that  life,  so  long  the 
dearest  treasure  of  his  family,  is  closing — closing 

[226] 


1806]  CONCORD 

like  Cowper's.  We  will  waive  the  subject  till  we 
meet,  only  observing  that  friendship,  and  that  alone, 
is  professed  or  felt  by  either" 

To  Ruth  Hurd: 

"Concord,  Feb.  18th,  1806. 

"Concord  has  been  enlivened  the  past  fortnight 
by  the  presence  of  Mrs.  S.  Thacher,  and  Mrs.  Jones. 
To  the  latter,  when  a  school-girl,  I  was  much  at- 
tached. She  possessed  an  ingenuous  simplicity,  an 
affectionate  warmth,  and  an  unaffected  vivacity  of 
character,  which  irresistibly  interests  us.  Time,  and 
cruel  experience  of  the  perfidy  of  a  cold-hearted 
world,  have  corrected  these  prominent  traits,  or,  at 
least,  thrown  over  them  the  veil  of  melancholy.  Mrs. 
Thacher  is  unchanged.  The  plain  good  sense,  and 
uniform  feeling,  by  which  she  is  characterized,  en- 
abled her,  when  young,  to  form  a  correct  estimate 
of  life,  and  she  has  been  neither  surprised  by  pain 
or  pleasure.  She  mentioned  Mary  P.  with  high  praise, 
observing  she  had  become  one  of  the  most  interest- 
ing and  amiable  girls  she  had  ever  known.  This  will 
give  you  pleasure,  for  you  probably  recollect  her  at 
a  period  of  her  life  when  this  character  could  not, 
in  full  extent,  have  been  accorded  her." 

To  Susan  Lowell: 

"Concord,  March  4th,  1806. 

"Your  letter  from  Salem,  dear  Susan,  conveyed 
unusual  pleasure, — not  only  as  it  was  in  itself  inter- 

[227] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

esting  and  grateful  to  my  feelings,  but  as  it  removed 
the  apprehensions  your  unusual  silence  had  excited. 

"Your  description  of  the  polished  hospitality  of 
your  amiable  hosts  charmed  me.  How  closely  allied 
are  genuine  politeness  and  benevolence!  Indeed,  it 
appears  to  me  impossible  to  practise  the  former,  for 
any  length  of  time,  (unless  stimulated  to  exertion 
by  some  important  object,)  if  the  latter  does  not 
shed  its  light  and  warmth  through  the  heart.  The 
innumerable  sacrifices  real  politeness  makes,  and  the 
restraints  to  which  she  submits,  must  be  insupport- 
ably  irksome  and  painful  to  the  cold-hearted  and 
selfish.  I  have  ever  admired  St.  Paul's  description 
of  charity,  as  a  portrait  of  all  that  is  most  graceful 
and  lovely,  and  calculated  to  put  fictitious  politeness 
to  the  blush. 

"  The  obituary  of  Saturday  probably  informed  you 
of  the  irreparable  loss  my  friend  has  sustained.  Such 
a  loss! — and  so  heightened  by  circumstances  the 
most  afflictive!  He  is  indeed  involved  in  the  deep 
mysteries  of  Providence.  A  few  months  since,  and 
that  beloved  parent,  possessing  a  sound  understand- 
ing, a  vivid  creative  imagination,  a  heart  of  exquisite 
feeling,  and  sublimated  piety  and  benevolence,  dif- 
fused happiness  through  his  cherished  family,  and 
was  at  once  the  object  of  their  pride  and  their  af- 
fection. To  his  darling  son  he  was  peculiarly  en- 
deared by  a  perfect  congeniality  of  taste  and  feeling, 
and  habits  of  the  most  tender  and  familiar  inter- 
course. But  He  who  gave  hath  resumed, — in  the 

[228] 


1806]  CONCORD 

manner  and  at  the  time  His  perfect  wisdom  and 
goodness  selected  as  the  best.  Let  your  prayers, 
dearest  Susan,  ascend  for  that  afflicted  family.  Im- 
plore the  widow's  God  and  orphans'  Hope,  to  pour 
into  their  bleeding  hearts  the  balm  of  divine  conso- 
lation— no  other  balm  can  be  effectual.  What  an 
asylum,  dear  Susan,  is  prayer,  from  the  host  of  sor- 
rows that  follows  us  through  life! — and  intercessory 
prayer — how  elevating  to  the  soul,  how  ennobling 
to  our  nature!  It  is  one  of  the  most  precious  privi- 
leges that  Christianity  bestows  on  friendship, — a 
privilege  that  leaves  us  never  weak,  never  powerless." 

To  Susan  Lowell: 

"Concord,  March  18th. 

"We  have  been  much  alarmed  by  the  indisposi- 
tion of  my  younger  sister,  who  has  had  a  cold,  sev- 
eral days  past,  and,  since  I  commenced  this  letter, 
has,  in  coughing,  thrown  off  blood, — a  very  little, 
but  sufficient  to  alarm." 

Again : 

"March  27th,  1806. 

"  I  received  my  dear  Susan's  letter  from  the  post 
this  morning,  as  a  boon  from  Heaven;  as  indeed, 
like  her  love  from  which  it  proceeded,  it  undoubt- 
edly was.  It  cheered  a  dejection  of  spirits  which  I 
have  feared  to  indulge,  and,  till  now,  have  not  im- 
parted, save  to  my  pillow ;  a  dejection  the  more  un- 
reasonable, as  my  sister  has,  notwithstanding  the  de- 

[229] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [ISM 

bility  produced  by  diet  the  most  abstemious,  uni- 
formly progressed  in  convalescence. 

"  I  do  not  think  one  can  with  facility,  or  certainty, 
penetrate  the  sentiments  of  R.  Without  the  appear- 
ance of  reserve,  she  has  the  reality ;  and,  by  this  for- 
tunate trait  of  character,  escapes  the  indifference 
which  the  former  inspires,  and  secures  all  the  ad- 
vantages of  the  latter." 

To  Ruth  Kurd: 

"Concord,  April  9th,  1806. 

"Will  you  this  morning,  dear  Ruth,  receive  my 
congratulations  on  the  prospect  of  retaining  our  es- 
timable friend  R.  [Rogers],  in  Charlestown.  Mr.  Chan- 
ning,  who  has  just  left  us,  communicated  the  intelli- 
gence, and  I  assure  you  it  was  welcomed  with  the 
sincerest  pleasure,  as  was  his  feeling  eulogium  on  the 
excellence  of  his  friend.  Before  I  proceed  to  tell  you 
how  much  I  was  delighted  with  the  conversation  of 
Mr.  Channing,  let  me  soothe  your  anxiety  for  Betsy, 
by  assuring  you,  notwithstanding  the  vicissitudes 
of  weather,  she  has  acquired  strength,  and  is,  in  every 
respect,  better.  Were  it  possible  to  subdue  that  self- 
tormenting  propensity  of  imagination  to  anticipate 
an  uncertain,  and  often  an  improbable  evil,  to  the 
exclusion  of  a  not  more  uncertain  good, — how  much 
suffering  might  be  avoided !  Were  it  possible !  And 
shall  a  being  to  whom  Omnipotence  has  said,  *  My 
strength  is  sufficient  for  thee,'  doubt  the  possibility 

[230] 


1806]  CONCORD 

of  controlling  even  the  wildest  faculty  of  the  human 
mind  ?  But,  in  truth,  we  are  equally  reluctant  to  con- 
flict with  indolence,  by  the  complete  exertion  of 
our  own  powers — or  to  abase  pride,  as  we  must,  ere 
we  acknowledge  all  our  own  weakness  and  unwor- 
thiness,  and  apply,  in  sincerity,  with  fervour,  to  the 
Source  of  light  and  strength.  I  acknowledge  myself 
too  much  a  prey  to  imagination.  I  have  never  found 
the  real  evil  with  which  I  could  not  cope.  Religion 
offers  an  all-sufficient  antidote  to  every  real  woe ;  and, 
were  her  sway  extensive  and  supreme,  as  it  should 
be,  where  were  the  innumerable  ills  we  feel  or  fear  ? 
Sickness  and  death,  as  the  dispensations  of  a  wise  and 
tender  Parent,  would  lose  their  corrosive  power,  and 
disappointment  would  be  robbed  of  its  sting. 

"Mr.  Channing's  conversation  aided  my  feelings 
in  producing  this  sober  page — to  you  I  will  not  be- 
lieve it  unwelcome — if  indeed  it  be  legible.  Benev- 
olence was  among  the  topics  on  which  he  descanted 
with  his  usual  eloquence  and  feeling.  In  painting  the 
many  modes  in  which  it  might  be  exercised,  he  dis- 
closed his  own  benevolent  heart.  He  lamented  that 
ladies  who  are  not  engaged  in  the  turmoil  of  busi- 
ness, as  is  the  other  sex,  should  not  escape  from  the 
lassitude  and  ennui  of  life  by  visiting  the  abodes  of 
poverty  and  sorrow,  soothing  the  one  by  that  sym- 
pathy they  so  much  boast,  and  alleviating  the  other 
by  the  sacrifice  of  superfluities,  and  even,  (to  give  his 
idea,)  by  the  exercise  of  the  needle." 

[231] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IBM 

To  Sarah  Ripley: 

"Concord,  May  2nd,  1806. 

"Mary  [Emerson]  beamed  on  us  the  day  before 
yesterday,  and,  like  a  ministering  angel,  consoled, 
fortified,  and  elevated.  The  happiness  that  results 
from  a  connection  with  her,  is  it  not  nearly  without 
alloy?  We  can  suffer  no  anxiety  on  her  account — 
she  is  beyond  the  reach  of  real  misfortune, — and 
this  is  the  inestimable  privilege  of  loving  those  who 
rest  on  the  arm  of  Omnipotence." 

To  Susan  Lowell: 

"Concord,  May  7th,  1806. 

"Were  it  possible,  I  would  join  you,  though  but 
for  an  hour.  To  see  your  happy  family  reunited  would 
be  a  cordial.  But,  in  the  present  state  of  my  sister's 
health,  I  do  not  even  call  at  the  Parsonage.  She  does 
not  progress  in  convalescence;  even  the  joy  of  our 
brother's  return  has  not  renovated  her  languid  frame. 
Our  time — attention — hopes  and  fears — are  hers. 
But  what  have  Christians  to  do  with  paralyzing  fear  ? 
Alas,  my  dear  Susan!  is  it  not  deplorable  evidence 
of  the  insincerity  of  our  confidence  in  the  all- wise 
and  perfect  Controller  of  events,  that  we  are  reluc- 
tant to  commit  to  His  disposal  'all  we  have,  and  all 
we  are'?  Oh,  for  that  confidence  in  God  which  His 
perfections  invite,  justify,  command!  It  is,  as  Mr. 
Frisbie  once  said  to  me, '  richly  worth  a  life  of  blind- 
ness.' Possessed  of  it,  we  defy  calamity,  and  triumph 
in  death." 

[232] 


1806]  CONCORD 

To  Ann  Bromfield: 

"Concord,  May  10th,  1806. 

"The  vessel  that  wafted  hither  our  friend  Aim 
Lowell,  returned  my  younger  brother  to  the  embrace 
of  his  family.  He  remained  with  us  but  few  hours ; 
that  short  time  produced  an  assurance  that  the  in- 
tegrity and  purity  of  his  youthful  character  was  un- 
changed; an  assurance  that  terminated  most  grate- 
fully one  source  of  anxiety.  Another,  in  the  illness 
of  my  sister,  remains — because  we  are  weak,  I  some- 
times fear  criminally  so.  Would  not  a  genuine,  heart- 
felt confidence  in  Him '  in  whose  hands  are  the  issues 
of  Life  and  Death '  exclude  this  trembling  solicitude  ? 

"  I  need  not  say  with  how  much  delight  I  should 
embrace  you,  how  much  I  long  to  hear  and  to  say 
the  thousand  things  understood  only  by  friends.  You 
know  I  love  you,  and  you  will  feel  the  pain  it  costs 
me  to  say  I  cannot  this  month  offer, — what  I  would 
wish  ever  to  retain  for  you, — an  apartment  in  my 
dwelling,  as  your  remembrance  has  ever  a  place  in 
my  heart.  Previous  to  my  sister's  illness,  my  father 
had  undertaken  to  enlarge  a  building;  and,  at  pres- 
ent, every  chamber,  my  parents' and  sisters'  excepted, 
is  occupied  by  carpenters,  masons,  and  domestics." 

To  Susan  Lowell: 

"Concord,  May  19th,  1806. 

"Do  you  recollect  that  pathetic  little  poem  by 
Bruce,  commencing  with,  'Now  Spring  returns,  but 

[233] 


[1806 

not  for  me  returns'?  It  often  comes  to  my  heart  with 
irresistible  force,  as  I  contemplate  the  pallid,  inter- 
esting figure  before  me ;  but  faith  and  hope  combine 
to  chase  the  sad  emotions  it  inspires." 

Again : 

"Concord,  June  18th,  1806. 

"You  ask  me  of  my  sister.  Patient,  composed,  re- 
signed to  the  will  of  her  covenant  God,  she  is  an  ob- 
ject of  congratulation.  On  the  eve  of  receiving  the 
crown  of  immortality,  of  escaping  from  the  sorrows 
and  pollutions  of  life,  of  being  admitted  to  the  im- 
mediate presence  of  her  Creator  and  Redeemer,  and 
to  the  society  of  the  beloved  friends  who  have  pre- 
ceded her, — and  this  in  freshness  of  youth,  ere  she 
is  withered  by  'the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day,' — 
O  my  friend,  what  a  privilege  1  I  check  as  ungrate- 
ful the  starting  tear  which  usurps  the  place  of  thanks- 
giving and  praise  to  Him  whose  promises  sustain 
her." 

To  Ruth  Hurd: 

"Concord,  July  17th,  1806. 

"  Yes,  my  dear  friend, '  every  murmuring  thought  is 
dispelled'  by  a  contemplation  of  the  felicity  to  which 
it  has  pleased  the  Author  of  all  good  to  elevate  our 
darling  Betsy.  Far  from  avoiding  her  remembrance 
as  afflictive,  we  recall,  we  cherish  it,  as  associated 
with  ideas  the  most  sublime,  consolatory,  and  de- 
lightful. She  has  been,  indeed,  a  privileged  being;  the 

[234] 


1806]  CONCORD 

purity  of  her  soul,  (a  purity  rarely  equalled,)  was 
never  sullied  by  an  intercourse  with  the  world,  and 
her  Heavenly  Father,  to  secure  it  forever,  translated 
her  to  His  own  abode.  How  few  have  lived  so  inno- 
cently, and  so  free  from  personal  suffering  1  how  few 
have  exchanged  worlds  so  peacefully  and  delight- 
fully! 

"My  dear  Ruth,  may  we,  at  the  hour  of  death, 
possess  her  humble  confidence,  her  gentle  firmness ; 
and  may  we  be  blest,  as  she  was,  with  the  soothing 
presence  of  some  beloved  spirit,  who  may  conduct 
us  to  our  compassionate,  our  adorable  Saviour !  How 
rapturous  the  anticipation  of  that  moment, 

'When  souls  that  long  have  loved  before 
Shall  meet,  unite,  and  part  no  more ; ' 

when  we  shall  be  permitted  to  behold  'Him  who 
loved  us,  and  gave  Himself  for  us,'  with  Mary  to  em- 
brace His  feet,  and  express  our  overflowing  gratitude 
and  love! 

"  Thanks,  my  dear  Ruth,  for  your  affectionate  in- 
vitation. Our  newly  awakened  fears  for  Benjamin 
will  not  permit  us  to  quit  pur  home  for  many  days, 
until  he  shall  be  perfectly  restored." 

To  Ann  Bromfield: 

"Concord,  July  18th,  1806. 

"Yes,  my  dear  Ann,  we  have  closed  the  eyes  of  a 
sister  whose  loveliness,  delicacy,  and  faithful  affec- 
tion, bound  her  to  our  hearts  by  indissoluble  ties. 

[235] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [I«M 

Never  was  a  tranquil,  innocent  life  closed  by  a  death 
more  peaceful  and  happy.  Firmly  confiding  in  her 
Saviour,  reposing  her  all  of  hope  and  happiness  on 
Him,  she  was  peculiarly  privileged  at  the  hour  of 
death,  and  her  weeping  but  delighted  family  pecu- 
liarly consoled.  I  speak  not  to  the  world,  but  to  my 
dearest  Ann,  and  she  will  not  impute  to  enthusiasm 
or  superstition  a  conviction  that  shed  lustre  on  the 
closing  life  of  a  Christian,  whose  heart  was  calm,  and 
whose  mind  was  clear ;  a  conviction  that  she  beheld 
our  darling  Henry,  that  he  addressed  her,  and  at- 
tended to  conduct  her  to  another  and  a  better  world." 

To  Susan  Lowell: 

"Concord,  July  19th,  1806. 

"  Beloved  Susan,  you  have  sympathized  in  the  sor- 
rows of  your  friend, — share  her  grateful  joy  that  an- 
other Angel  has  entered  the  courts  of  Heaven,  and 
entered  as  an  Angel  should,  the  presence  of  the  God 
of  Love.  No  terror,  no  anguish,  clouded  her  brow, 
or  ruffled  the  serenity  of  her  soul :  humble,  though 
confident,  relying  implicitly  on  the  intercession  of 
her  Redeemer,  the  world  of  spirits  opened  to  her  view 
ere  her  eye  closed  on  the  world  of  sense.  The  day  pre- 
ceding her  dissolution,  when  her  mind  was  clear  and 
collected,  she  told  me  she  had  seen  our  beloved 
Henry,  that  he  came  to  her  bedside  blooming  and 
lovely  as  when  he  left  her,  and,  embracing  her,  said, 
smiling,  he  must  leave  her  for  the  day,  but  should  be 
with  her  again  at  night.  We  scarce  believed  it  pos- 

[236] 


1806]  CONCORD 

sible  she  should  continue  with  us  till  then,  but  to 
Mamma,  with  an  earnest  and  solemn  countenance, 
she  expressed  a  certainty  of  beholding  him  at  the  ap- 
pointed time.  Evening  arrived,  and  brought  with  it 
emotions  of  indescribable  sublimity.  We  all  felt  a 
conviction  that  he  knelt  with  us  around  the  bed,  or 
bent  over  the  pillow  of  death.  The  lovely  object  we 
regarded  remained  placid  and  serene ;  her  respiration 
became  shorter,  her  eye  dim,  but  a  faint  smile  ani- 
mated her  face  to  the  last, — and  thus  passed  from 
earth  to  Heaven  one  of  the  purest  souls  that  ever  in- 
habited this  world.  As  a  daughter,  a  sister,  and  a 
friend,  she  was  all  we  could  wish — few  so  young  per- 
formed the  duties  of  life  so  well ;  but  her  whole  con- 
fidence, her  whole  hope  in  death  reposed  on  the  mer- 
its of  her  Saviour.  May  God  grant  to  us  an  exit  so 
delightful, — and,  for  all  the  tempests  that  may  arise 
between  the  present  and  that  blessed  moment,  His 
will  be  done! 

"The  darling  brother,  who  so  lately  returned  to 
us,  is  the  present  subject  of  our  hopes  and  fears." 

The  following  to  Miss  Lowell,  relating  to  Mrs. 
Farnham,  shows  us  how  severe  a  trial  my  mother 
considered  the  one  which  was  in  store  for  herself. 

" Concord,  August  8th,  1806. 

"To  one  who  has  but  few  ties  to  this  world,  and 

whose  affections  are  placed  on  Heavenly  objects, 

death  is  the  herald  of  joy.  Day  before  yesterday,  I 

visited  a  most  interesting  object,  whose  situation  is 

[237] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isoe 

widely  different,  and  who  is  advancing  with  slow,  but 
certain  step,  to  the  tomb.  Mrs.  Farnham,  the  eldest 
daughter  of  Mrs.  Ripley,  is  the  mother  of  ten  chil- 
dren, seven  of  them  girls;  in  the  bloom  of  life, 
strongly  attached  to  her  family,  and  feeling  all  the 
solicitude  of  an  intelligent  and  affectionate  parent, 
she  is  the  prey  of  consumption.  Such  a  sufferer,  my 
dear  Susan,  makes  us  blush  to  weep  over  our  own 
inferior  sorrows,  and  causes  us  to  tremble  while  we 
ask  if  our  confidence  in  God  be  so  firm  as  to  enable 
us  to  meet  with  composure  such  a  fate."  [After  speak- 
ing with  sympathy  of  the  recent  death  of  an  aunt  of 
Miss  Lowell,  my  mother  writes  words  which  might 
have  been  appropriately  addressed  to  herself  in  ref- 
erence to  her  own  coming  fate,  from  which  her  affec- 
tionate nature  then  recoiled.]  "Do  not  imagine,  my 
Susan,  such  a  deprivation  would  be  to  you  insup- 
portable. '  God  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb,' 
and  mingles  with  the  sorrows  from  which  nature  re- 
coils, consolations  of  which  the  mind  has  no  concep- 
tion till  the  moment  of  trial  arrives." 

To  Susan  Lowell: 

"Concord,  August  20th,  1806. 
"Had  I  the  pen  of  A.  C.  L.,  I  would  describe  a 
ride  with  Sarah,  which  occupied  yesterday  afternoon. 
More  than  two  hours  we  were  lost  in  an  intricate 
wood,  which  extends  over  part  of  Lincoln  and  Con- 
cord, and  which  embosoms  two  sheets  of  water  of 
considerable  extent;  and  round  which  we  wound 

[238] 


1806]  CONCORD 

through  paths  overgrown  with  shrubs,  the  branches 
of  trees  on  either  side  frequently  striking  the  chaise, 
and  impeding  our  course,  without  the  power  of  di- 
recting ourselves  into  the  travelled  road.  The  idea 
of  being  lost  within  three  miles  of  Concord  is  rather 
ludicrous ;  but  our  situation  was  rendered  distressing 
by  the  charge  of  Mrs.  Farnham's  sick  infant,  and 
the  approach  of  night.  I  have  seldom  felt  a  more 
joyous  surprise  than  when,  on  emerging  from  the 
wood,  we  discovered  ourselves  to  be  within  a  mile 
and  a  half  of  home. 

"You  have  doubtless  seen  our  friends,  Rogers  and 
Ruth,  since  their  engagement  has  been  announced. 
On  no  one  could  I  have  seen  Ruth  bestow  herself 
with  equal  pleasure ;  the  firm,  consistent  character 
of  her  friend  inspires  a  degree  of  confidence  justified 
by  few  men  of  the  world.  I  have  apprehended  her 
fate  might  be  united  with  some  one  more  splendid, 
but  less  estimable  than  Rogers." 

My  mother  seems  at  this  time  to  be  constantly  in 
scenes  of  sickness  and  death.  Her  next  date  finds  her 
in  Billerica,  to  which  place  she  and  her  stepsister 
Sally  went  on  the  occasion  of  the  illness  of  Sally's 
grandfather.  To  Miss  Lowell  my  mother  writes: 

"September  6th. 

"The  date  of  my  letter  will  surprise  you,  dear 
Susan.  The  illness  of  my  grandfather  Thompson  at- 
tracted hither  my  sister  and  self;  his  death,  which 
has  left  Grandmamma  afflicted  and  solitary,  detains 

[239] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [UMM 

us.  Yesterday,  his  remains  were  committed  to  the 
tomb  where  reposes  our  beloved  Betsy.  The  scene, 
in  itself  interesting,  thence  acquired  double  power 
to  affect  us.  This,  with  the  necessary  exertion  of  re- 
ceiving and  providing  for  the  accommodation  of  nu- 
merous guests,  has  exhausted  every  power  of  body 
and  mind." 

A  week  later  my  Grandmother  Hurd  writes  from 
Concord  to  her  absent  daughters : 

"Friday,  Sept.  12th. 

"  I  think  of  you,  my  dear  girls,  almost  every  mo- 
ment, and  certainly  made  a  great  sacrifice  in  con- 
senting to  your  tarrying  in  Billerica,  as  humanity 
seemed  to  demand  it ;  but  the  avocations  of  the  week, 
thus  far,  have  required  your  assistance  at  home  much 
more.  Your  father  has  never  been  in  such  immediate 
danger  since  I  knew  him.  Two  nights,  Tuesday  and 
Wednesday,  he  had  the  genuine  quinsy,  which  ap- 
peared to  be  the  last  struggles  of  nature.  He  has 
kept  his  chamber  since,  and  is  better.  Benjamin  is 
much  the  same." 

It  makes  one's  heart  ache  to  think  of  the  dear, 
unselfish  mother  worn  out  with  anxiety  and  fatigue 
in  the  absence  of  her  daughters,  whom  she  has  given 
up  to  others  at  a  time  when  they  were  so  much 
needed  at  home.  Of  their  return  we  have  evidence  in 
a  brief  but  interesting  diary  of  my  mother's,  and  a 
not  less  interesting  record  contained  in  a  letter  ad- 

[240] 


1806]  CONCORD 

dressed  by  Sarah  Ripley  to  her  stepsister,  Mary  Em- 
erson. 

"September  17th,  1806.  'Retire,  O  my  soul,  to  thy 
quiet  rest ! '  Let  the  serenity  of  nature  be  impressed 
on  all  thy  feelings !  The  air  is  mild,  the  heavens  are 
cloudless,  the  earth,  ever  changing,  yet  invariably 
beautiful,  presents  fruits  instead  of  flowers,  the  va- 
ried hues  of  Autumn  in  place  of  the  vivid  verdure 
of  Spring.  Let  thy  progress  in  life  be  analogous; 
let  the  warm  feelings  and  bright  hopes  of  youth  ma- 
ture into  self-possession,  confirmed  good  habits,  and 
steady  confidence  in  thy  Creator,  Preserver,  and  con- 
stant Benefactor! 

"An  eventful  Summer  has  closed.  Shall  I  ever  for- 
get the  friend  and  sister  whose  smiles  adorned  its 
opening,  and  who  now  exists  no  more  on  earth !  But 
she  exists  in  a  better  world,  and,  through  the  mer- 
its of  a  Redeemer,  I  may  yet  hope  to  meet  her ;  this 
conviction  dries  the  falling  tear.  Through  the  past 
season,  I  have  been  an  interested  spectator  of  the 
progress  of  disease  and  death.  I  have  seen  the  bloom- 
ing girl  of  twenty,  and  the  hoary  head  of  eighty, 
committed  to  the  same  tomb.  How  soon  its  doors 
will  unclose  for  me  I  know  not;  but  this  I  know, 
religion  can  make  death  lovely  and  desirable  at  any 
age.  Death !  what  is  it  ?  The  termination  of  our  pro- 
bationary state, — the  commencement  of  immortal- 
ity,— how  interesting!  how  glorious!  O  Thou  Au- 
thor of  my  being!  enlighten  my  mind,  purify  my 

[241] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isoe 

affections,  elevate  my  views, — and  grant  that  every 
action  of  life  may  be  influenced  by  just  ideas  of 
death!" 

The  following  has  special  interest  for  my  mother's 
descendants,  whose  privilege  it  is  to  cherish,  with 
love  and  reverence,  the  blessed  memory  left  them 
by  my  father. 

"Sept.  18th.  A  character  of  rare  excellence  pre- 
sented in  D.  A.  W.  Esq.  The  world  speaks  of  him 
with  respect,  his  friends  with  enthusiasm.  For  my- 
self, I  should  judge  him  to  possess  a  sound,  correct 
understanding,  a  benevolent  heart,  and  uncommon 
tenderness  and  delicacy  of  soul.  To  these  he  adds  a 
dignified  firmness  that  gives  weight  to  the  milder, 
and  more  graceful  virtues." 

A  more  admirable  sketch  of  my  father  could  hardly 
have  been  given  by  his  most  discriminating  friend, 
after  a  lifelong  acquaintance,  than  is  here  given  by 
my  mother  on  the  evening  of  their  first  interview. 

In  the  letter  of  Sarah  Ripley  to  Mary  Emerson 
already  mentioned,  which  is  dated  "Concord,  Sept. 
19th,  1806,"  we  have  an  account  of  my  mother's  in- 
troduction to  my  father  on  the  previous  evening, 
from  which  it  appears  that  it  was  through  Miss  Em- 
erson's intervention  that  they  first  met.  Miss  Emer- 
son often  stayed  in  Newburyport,  where  her  sister, 
Mrs.  Farnham,  lived,  and  where  my  father  was  then 
established  in  the  practice  of  the  law.  I  think  that 

[242] 


1806]  CONCORD 

he  boarded  at  Mrs.  Farnham's.  There  Miss  Emerson 
became  intimately  acquainted  with  him,  and,  ap- 
parently, made  up  her  mind  that  he  and  her  fair 
Concord  friend  were  kindred  spirits,  and  should  be 
brought  to  know  each  other. 

This  letter  of  Miss  Ripley's,  so  carefully  preserved 
by  my  father  and  mother,  was  doubtless  valued  by 
them  for  the  sake  of  what  it  contains  on  this  sub- 
ject, which  I  here  copy,  as  follows:  . 

"Concord,  Sept.  19th,  1806. 

"  My  beloved  Mary  will  expect  me  to  write  a  line 
by  so  direct  a  conveyance,  and,  since  the  gallantry 
of  Mr.  White  has  allowed  me  time,  I  shall  follow 
one  of  the  strongest  propensities  of  my  soul,  that  of 
speaking  to  you.  We  were  surprised,  and  much  grat- 
ified by  the  arrival  of  Mr.  W.  Well,  sister  Mary,  I 
endeavoured  to  execute  your  wishes  last  evening; 
and  with  the  result  you  may  be  flattered,  I  think. 
As  sister  Farnham  was  not  at  home  when  Mr.  White 
came,  and  we  wanted  to  get  Mrs.  Schalkwyck  up 
here,  we  rode  out  and  brought  her  home  with  us,  and, 
I  assure  you,  Mary  never  appeared  to  greater  advan- 
tage. We  walked  a  little,  she  sang,  and  conversed 
with  unusual  ease  and  freedom,  and  really,  I  don't 
think  our  friend  was  insensible  to  her  charms.  He 
was  in  fine  spirits,  and  acknowledges  the  justness 
of  our  encomiums,  which,  for  one  so  little  acquainted 
with  her,  is  remarkable.  Mary,  I  suppose,  will  write 
to  you,  for  you  have  written  to  her  lately,  and  she 

[243] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IBM 

can  say  for  herself,  the  fine  things  she  thinks  about 
Mr.  White." 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that  we  have  not  the  letter 
which  my  mother  doubtless  wrote  to  Miss  Emerson 
at  this  time.  The  following  are  the  next  entries  in  her 
diary: 

"Sept.  19th.  Languid  feelings  and  little  exertion. 
This  will  never  do ! 

"Sept.  21st.  Enjoyed,  in  a  sense  of  the  Divine  per- 
fections, and  in  confiding  every  interest  respecting 
time  and  eternity  to  my  Heavenly  Father,  inexpres- 
sible peace." 

Here  she  ceases  for  some  weeks  to  write  in  her 
diary.  The  gap,  however,  is  partially  filled  by  her 
letters. 

To  Susan  Lowell: 

"Concord,  Sept.  22nd,  1806. 
"  Mrs.  Farnham,  for  whose  health  you  express  so 
kind  a  solicitude,  returned,  last  Monday,  from  a  jour- 
ney of  considerable  extent,  with  improved  health  and 
spirits.  A  beam  of  hope,  though  faint,  dawns  on  her 
family.  The  infant  declines ;  it  is  at  Newbury  Port, 
where  Mary  Emerson  supplies  the  place  of  her  sis- 
ter. Mary  E.  — you  should  know  her  intimately,  dear 
Susan,  for  you  would  mutually  love  and  esteem  each 
other.  Mr.  White  delighted  me  by  the  full  justice 
he  rendered  to  her  excellence,  acknowledging  her  to 

[244] 


1806]  CONCORD 

possess  a  consistent  elevation  of  principle,  feeling,  and 
conduct,  such  as  he  had  never  known  surpassed. 

"Too  stupid  to  offer  anything  of  my  own  worth 
perusal,  I  transcribe,  for  my  dear  Susan,  part  of  Mary 
E.'s  last  letter,  which  I  received  at  Billerica.  Speak- 
ing of  Niagara,  she  observes,  '  Nothing  can  seize  on 
the  affections  like  the  wonders  of  Creation,  for  they 
present  the  grand  idea  of  a  God.  And  may  not  the 
meanest  Christian  say,  This  Being,  with  all  His 
power,  His  magnificence,  His  love,  His  truth  and 
justice,  is  my  God! — Mine,  for  the  fleeting  vicissi- 
tudes of  a  perishable,  and  often  excruciating,  mor- 
tality, and  mine  for  all  the  grandeurs  of  an  eventful 
and  happy  immortality!  O  my  friend!  when  awed 
and  sublimated  by  a  sense  of  His  attributes,  even 
His  works  fade  on  the  mind,  and  all  the  transactions 
of  time  disappear.  Did  not  the  sublime  Apostle  mean 
feelings  like  these,  when  he  spake  of  living  above  the 
world  while  in  it?  This  divine  art  robs  disappoint- 
ment of  its  arrow,  and  disarms  the  whole  artillery  of 
worldly  mortifications.'" 

To  the  same: 

"Concord,  Sept.  22nd,  1806. 

"The  messenger  who  deposited  this  morning's 
epistle  to  my  beloved  Susan  in  the  post  office,  brought 
me  in  return  her  welcome  pages. 

"My  Aunt  North,  that  beloved  relative,  whose 
blindness  and  whose  active  benevolence  you  have 
heard  me  mention,  is  now  our  guest,  but  will  soon 

[245] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

proceed  with  my  uncle,  on  her  journey  to  Albany, 
there  to  meet  General  North,  the  only  brother  of  her 
husband.1  She  is  to  me  a  very  interesting  object.  To 
reflect  on  her  past  life,  and  witness  her  present  ex- 
ertions is  delightful.  At  the  age  of  sixty-one,  she  was 
deprived  of  sight.  How  many  would  have  sunk  in- 
to despondence,  or,  at  best,  have  submitted  with  quiet 
acquiescence;  but  she,  while  feelingly  alive  to  the 
deprivation,  bows  to  the  decree  of  Providence,  and 
opens  every  remaining  source  of  usefulness  and  fe- 
licity. She  has  acquired,  at  this  age,  the  art  of  wri- 
ting, of  sewing,  and  knitting,  without  the  aid  of  one 
solitary  ray.  We  have  received  many  charming  let- 
ters from  her  since  she  ceased  to  distinguish  between 
day  and  night,  all  written  legibly,  though  irregularly." 

To  Ruth  Kurd: 

"Concord,  Sept  26th,  1806. 

"  I  don't  recollect  to  have  heard  you  mention  Mr. 
White,  except  with  general  sentiments  of  esteem 
and  regard.  He  certainly  appears  to  be  a  very  inter- 
esting man,  and  his  humane  attentions  to  Mrs.  Farn- 
ham  and  her  lovely  family  prepossess  her  Concord 
friends  highly  in  his  favour." 

JShe  is  described  as  follows  in  Hon.  James  W.  North's  "  History  of 
Augusta,  Maine":  "  Madam  North  was  a  Boston  lady  of  the  old  school. 
She  had  a  good  person,  a  cultivated  mind,  dignified  and  graceful  manners, 
and,  being  remarkable  for  her  powers  of  conversation,  was  the  delight  of 
the  social  circle.  Her  sprightly  and  spirited  remarks,  in  tones  which  were 
music  to  the  ear,  were  peculiarly  pleasant  and  animating. "  —  ED. 

[246] 


1806]  CONCORD 

In  the  month  of  October  my  mother  made  a  visit 
to  Charlestown,  where  she  had  a  serious  illness,  which 
detained  her  long  from  home.  In  the  following  letter 
from  Sally  Hurd,  we  see  that  her  good  mother  was 
"given  to  hospitality." 

"Concord,  October  9th,  1806. 
"  You  must  not  expect,  my  dear  sister,  I  shall  write 
you  a  long  letter  at  present,  for,  as  fast  as  one  com- 
pany leaves  us,  another  comes  to  make  their  place 
good.  We  are  now  in  momentary  expectation  of  see- 
ing our  Charlestown  friends,  and,  likewise,  our  Tops- 
field  friends.  If  we  are  disappointed  in  the  first,  we 
shall  not  be  in  the  last,  so  do  not  be  anxious  for  us." 

From  my  grandmother  to  my  mother: 

"Concord,  Oct.  18th,  1806. 

"Your  letter,  and  confirmation  by  Miss  Hale  of 
your  returning  health,  has  given  me  pleasure.  I  think 
you  will  not  need  caution,  as  Cousin  Grace  says  you 
are  very  prudent,  so  much  so  that  you  declined  ri- 
ding with  Mr.  White.  What  carried  him  to  Charles- 
town  ?  Perhaps  he  wanted  to  buy  the  *  Studies  of  Na- 
ture,' or  something  else  not  to  be  purchased  else- 
where." 

A  week  later,  Sally,  in  a  letter,  indulges,  like  my 
grandmother,  in  some  jests  on  the  subject  of  Mr. 
White's  visit,  and  closes,  saying,  "We  have  constant 
company ;  I  have  scarcely  time  to  think,  much  less 
to  write." 

[247] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isoe 

After  my  mother's  return  to  Concord  she  wrote 
the  following  letter  to  Miss  Bromfield : 

"Concord,  Nov.  20th,  1806. 

"  Last  Saturday,  I  returned  to  my  tranquil  home, — 
returned,  trembling  with  apprehension  of  my  broth- 
er's increased  illness.  My  Ann  will  gratefully  rejoice 
with  me  that  I  found  him  much  better  than  my  fears, 
— his  situation  is  delicate, — is  critical  in  the  extreme, 
and  awakens  all  the  feelings  of  the  past  months;  but 
I  would  not  excite  painful  sympathy  in  the  bosom 
of  my  kind  and  feeling  friend.  Let  me  rather  express 
thanks  for  the  pleasure  you  procured  me  by  your  ani- 
mated praise  of  the  'Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel.'  Did 
ever  the  echoes  of  Scotia  reverberate  a  wilder,  sweeter 
strain !  Scott  is,  indeed,  apoet, — his  very  faults  evince 
a  master's  hand,  and  scarcely  does  the  polished  beauty 
of  his  finest  pictures  more  delight  us,  than  the  sim- 
plicity with  which  he  chants  of  other  men  and  other 
days.  Oh,  how  I  wished  you  to  participate  in  the 
alternate  emotions  of  pity,  admiration,  terror,  and 
tenderness,  the  minstrel  so  successfully  inspires!" 

To  Susan  Lowell: 

"Concord,  November  26th,  1806. 
"  'T  is  the  privilege  of  my  ever  dear  Susan  to  be 
placed  above  the  suspicion  of  negligence,  or  any  of  the 
petty  crimes  that  mar,  and  so  oft  undermine,  the  fair 
fabric  of  friendship.  A  much  longer  silence  would 
have  alarmed  me,  but  would  not  have  excited  any 

[248] 


1806]  CONCORD 

apprehension  that  you  ceased  to  love,  or  voluntarily 
suspended  intercourse  with  your  friend. 

"My  brother  is  now  much  worse.  With  perfect 
conviction  of  his  danger,  he  is  calm  and  composed. 
His  family  endeavour  to  fix  a  steadfast  eye  on  Prov- 
idence, and  humbly  to  submit  to  its  decrees,  while 
they  implore  an  averting  of  its  keen  sorrows.  My 
friend,  M.  M.  Emerson,  passed  with  me  last  Wed- 
nesday and  Thursday  evening.  Her  society  ever  for- 
tifies and  elevates  above  the  events  of  life.  Regard- 
ing nothing  as  evil  which  tends  to  moral  improve- 
ment, she  places  sickness,  sorrow,  and  death  in  a 
sublime  and  consolatory  point  of  view.  My  dear 
Susan,  you  must  know  her.  Ann  already  does,  and 
admires, — I  am  not  certain,  loves  her.  A  longer,  or 
rather  a  closer  intimacy,  a  more  complete  acquaint- 
ance with  her  heart,  and  all  its  generous,  tender  feel- 
ings, is  necessary  to  ensure  affection.  She  is  disposed 
to  love  you,  Susan,  already, — your  countenance  and 
manner  impressed  her  strongly  in  your  favour, — and 
it  is  among  her  weaknesses  to  yield  to  first  impres- 
sions. 'T  is  perhaps  wrong  to  style  that  propensity  a 
weakness,  since  she  regards  it  the  least  deceptive 
mode  of  judging  of  those  who  are  not  perfectly  known 
to  us." 

Four  days  later,  my  mother  makes  the  following 
record  in  her  diary: 

"Nov.  30th.  A  lapse  of  more  than  two  months, — 
two  interesting  months.  The  rich  and  varied  boun- 

[249] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [I«M 

ties,  the  unmerited  mercies,  I  have  received,  demand 
acknowledgments, — demand  a  life  of  gratitude.  A 
short,  but  painful  and  dangerous,  illness,  at  Charles- 
town,  has  been  succeeded  by  unusual  health.  During 
my  illness,  all  that  assiduous  friendship,  all  that  com- 
passionate tenderness  could  offer  as  alleviation,  I 
received, — and,  what  infinitely  transcends  human 
consolation  and  aid,  the  light  of  God's  countenance 
cheered  and  sustained  me.  Oh,  what  love,  what  en- 
tire devotion  is  due  to  Him  who  hath  'healed  all  my 
diseases,  and  redeemed  my  life  from  destruction.' 
Blessed  Source  of  being  and  felicity !  add  to  all  Thy 
mercies  a  heart  to  appreciate  them  and  to  love  Thee ! 
"My  acquaintance  with  D.  A.  W.  Esq.  has  pro- 
gressed. Radical  worth  ever  gains  by  inspection,— 
the  more  I  have  seen,  the  more  I  have  admired." 

We  cannot  doubt  to  what  "most  interesting 
event"  my  mother  refers  in  the  next  record. 

"December  1 7th.  A  fortnight  of  suspense  and  anx- 
iety, rendered  supportable  only  by  confidence  in  the 
Father  of  my  spirit.  On  Him,  who  careth  for  His 
children,  I  have  cast  my  care.  To  Him  I  have  re- 
signed a  most  interesting  event.  O  Thou  who  art — 
whose  being  and  perfections  are  displayed  in  all  Thy 
works, — I  rejoice  that  Thou  art  omnipotent,  for  Thy 
wisdom  and  Thy  goodness  equal  Thy  power.  In  Thy 
perfections  I  behold  a  supply  for  all  my  wants,  a 
balm  for  all  my  sorrows.  Be  this  my  peace,  my  con- 

[250] 


1806]  CONCORD 

fidence,  my  happiness, — Thou  art  omniscient,  om- 
nipresent, infinite  in  goodness,  perfect  in  wisdom,  in 
power  Almighty!" 

A  week  later  the  record  shows  her  relieved  from 
suspense  and  anxiety  on  the  subject  nearest  her 
heart. 

*  "December  23rd.  A  day  ever  to  be  treasured  in 
memory,  to  be  embalmed  by  gratitude  to  the  Giver 
of  every  good." 

Many  years  ago  my  father  gave  to  my  sister  and 
myself  the  letters  which  passed  between  him  and 
my  mother  before  and  after  their  marriage.  The  first 
in  order  is  the  following,  from  my  mother: 

"Concord,  December  24th,  1806. 
"Why  should  I  hesitate  to  acknowledge  that  Mr. 
White's  professions  were  received  as  he  could  wish. 
To  his  character  I  am  no  stranger, — it  justifies  me 
in  confessing  that,  in  the  approbation  of  affectionate 
parents,  he  will  meet  that  of 

MARY  VAN  SCHALKWYCK." 

Three  days  later  my  mother  wrote  the  following 
letter  to  Miss  Lowell.  The  first  paragraph  has  refer- 
ence not  only  to  her  own  happy  engagement,  but 
also  to  that  of  Miss  Lowell,  which  occurred  some 
months  before,  awakening  my  mother's  most  affec- 
tionate sympathy. 

[351] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [I«M 

"Concord,  Dec.  27th,  1806. 

"My  dear  Susan's  felicity  is  a  rich  source  of  sat- 
isfaction. Such  I  have  found  it  when  the  shades  of 
affliction  obscured  my  every  earthly  prospect, — and 
such  I  have  experienced  it  when,  through  the  open- 
ing clouds,  the  unexpected  sun  appeared.  That  sun- 
beams have  visited  me,  I  apprize  you, — but  guard 
the  secret  a  few  days,  even  from  Mr.  Gorham. 

"My  time,  my  almost  undivided  attention,  has 
been  my  brother's.  Would  that  I  could  tell  you  he 
was  better.  That  he  is  resigned  and  composed,  that 
his  faith  and  hope  fail  not,  is  cause  of  gratitude ;  but, 
my  dear  Susan,  however  fixed  our  conviction  of  the 
perfection  of  the  Divine  government,  to  contem- 
plate the  dear  youth  without  emotions  the  most  pen- 
etrating and  affecting  is  impossible;  the  brightest 
hopes,  the  dearest  expectations  connected  with  this 
world  fade  on  the  mind,  and  immortality  is  the  only 
idea  on  which  it  rests  with  satisfaction, — immortal- 
ity purchased  by  a  Saviour,  and  endeared  by  His 
presence." 

Benjamin's  death  must  have  occurred  within  a 
few  days  after  this  letter  was  written. 

[252] 


CHAPTER  X 

JANUARY-MAY,   1807 

ENGAGEMENT  TO  DANIEL  APPLETON  WHITE,  AND 
CORRESPONDENCE 


rTIHE  first  date  we  have  in  1807  is  that  of  a  letter 
.A.  from  my  father  to  my  mother,  evidently  his 
first.  Its  contents  indicate  that,  as  early  as  the  third 
of  January,  he  had,  in  visiting  her,  unexpectedly 
found  the  house  to  be  one  of  mourning.  My  father's 
has  always  been  my  ideal  character.  This  letter  is  its 
index.  I  find  in  it  the  same  charm  that  he  had  for 
me  from  my  earliest  recollection  to  his  latest  hour. 

'  "Newbury  Port,  Jan.  5th,  1807. 
"  I  cannot  avoid  hoping  a  few  lines  from  me  this 
morning  will  be  acceptable  to  my  dearest  friend, 
though  I  write  without  her  express  permission,  and 
in  a  very  hurried  moment.  The  strong  and  mingled 
emotions  which  filled  my  mind  during  the  few  but 
precious  moments  of  my  last  interview  with  her, 
prevented  my  asking  this  permission,  or  even  ex- 
pressing my  gratitude  for  her  goodness,  or  saying 
any  one  of  the  many  things  which  I  had  thought  to 
say.  Perhaps,  had  my  situation  been  different,  I  could 
not  have  done  all  this.  The  best  sentiments  and  feel- 
ings, those  certainly  which  I  value  most,  I  find  most 
difficulty  in  expressing.  I  always  wish  them  to  be 

[253] 


[1807 

understood,  without  degrading  them  by  words  which 
cannot  express  them.  But,  though  my  visit  to  Con- 
cord was  of  so  different  a  nature  from  what  I  had 
anticipated,  I  cannot  regret  it,  only  as  it  may  have 
given  pain  to  my  best  beloved:  and  I  hope  she  will 
not  much  regret  an  interview  which  has  made,  if 
possible,  a  dearer  impression  of  her  excellence  upon 
my  heart.  There  are  feelings,  though  I  know  not  by 
what  name  to  call  them,  which  sometimes  attend  our 
deepest  sympathy  and  sorrow,  infinitely  more  pre- 
cious than  any  which  the  brightest  moments  of  pros- 
perity bestow.  Such  I  experienced  when  I  retired 
from  your  father's  door,  as  from  a  dwelling  sacred 
to  grief, — too  sacred  for  my  intrusion.  I  felt  all  your 
affliction,  and  thought  of  your  divine  consolations. 
Many  tender  recollections  of  dear,  departed  friends 
mingled  with  my  thoughts  of  your  lamented,  excel- 
lent brother,  and  made  me  truly  appreciate  the  priv- 
ilege of  solitude.  My  heart  was  prepared  to  yield  to 
the  most  delightful  impressions  of  my  loveliest  friend. 
I  hope  soon  to  have  the  happiness  to  see  her  con- 
soled and  happy,  with  all  that  real  and  genuine  cheer- 
fulness which  her  own  mind,  and  our  divine  religion, 
are  so  well  calculated  to  impart.  She  never  forgets 
the  duties  and  privileges  of  life  amid  its  afflictions. 
"I  have  just  read  several  times  over  two  exquisite 
poems  in  the  'Anthology'  for  December,  selected 
from  James  Montgomery.  I  cannot  help  pointing 
them  out  to  my  friend,  as  I  know  they  will  give  her 
pleasure. 

[254] 


1807]  ENGAGEMENT 

"I  safely  reached  home  on  Saturday  evening.  I 
found  Mrs.  F.  no  better,  and  probably  not  so  well. 
I  am  in  haste  (as  you  must  perceive),  preparing  for 
a  journey  to  Portsmouth,  where  I  shall  pass  some 
days.  On  my  return,  shall  I  find  a  letter  from  my 
dearest  love?  Nothing  would  so  gladden  the  heart  of 
her  most  affectionate  D.  A.  WHITE." 

The  following  is  my  mother's  reply : 

"Concord,  Jan.  7th,  1807. 

"  How  highly  I  appreciate  the  sympathy  expressed 
in  the  countenance,  the  manner,  and  the  letter  of  my 
friend,  I  need  not  say:  at  no  period  could  it  have 
produced  an  effect  more  grateful.  The  scene  I  had 
just  witnessed  when  I  saw  you,  in  itself  most  inter- 
esting and  affecting,  was  heightened  by  every  ten- 
der recollection,  by  an  impressive  sense  of  the  im- 
mediate presence  of  Deity,  and,  (shall  I  incur  the 
charge  of  superstition?)  by  a  belief  that  the  spirits  of 
dear,  departed  friends  were  hovering  round  the  bed 
of  death,  to  hail  the  emancipated  soul.  If,  indeed,  the 
shock  was  not  too  painful,  I  cannot  regret  meeting 
my  friend  at  that  moment,  I  cannot  regret  the  neces- 
sity of  ever  after  associating  his  image  with  the  sub- 
lime and  affecting  ideas  which  a  recollection  of  that 
scene  cannot  fail  to  inspire.  'A  death-bed 's  a  detector 
of  the  heart.'  Benjamin's  character  then  requires  no 
encomium,  but  a  simple  description  of  his  closing 
scene.  Tranquillity  so  unmoved,  confidence  in  his  be- 
nignant Mediator  and  his  heavenly  Father  so  fixed, 

[255] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [WOT 

• — -are  rare  indeed.  O  my  friend!  may  the  ever  pres- 
ent, the  ever  beneficent  Being  we  both  adore,  con- 
duct us  as  innocently  through  life,  and  receive  us  as 
tenderly  to  His  bosoni  in  death! 

"Mrs.  F.  is  *no  better.'  I  cannot  think  of  that  in- 
teresting woman  without  admiration.  That  in  her  sit- 
uation resignation  can  be  felt,  is  the  triumph  of  Re- 
ligion. I  cannot  conceive  of  a  test  so  agonizing. 

"The  'Anthology'  for  December  I  have  not  re- 
ceived, but  several  little  poems  of  inimitable  beauty 
by  Montgomery,  I  have  read." 

To  Ann  Bromfield: 

"Concord,  Jan.  12th,  1807. 

"Ah  my  friend !  who  could  present  themselves  at 
the  tribunal  of  a  Holy,  Omniscient  Deity,  unshielded 
by  His  love,  manifested  in  Jesus  Christ?  And  with 
this  shield,  who  can  tremble  to  cast  upon  Him  every 
care,  to  repose  on  Him  soul-cheering  confidence,  and 
to  'ask  in  faith,  nothing  wavering,'  pardon  and  eter- 
nal life  ?  Confidence  in  the  merits  and  intercession  of 
the  Mediator  gave  to  my  darling  brother  the  most 
perfect  tranquillity  in  death.  Though  his  moral  hab- 
its were  remarkably  pure,  and  his  life  uncommonly 
innocent  and  useful,  he  disclaimed  all  self-depend- 
ence ;  and,  when  my  weeping  father  said  to  him '  You 
are  now  happy  in  reflecting  on  a  virtuous  life;' — he 
replied, '  I  am  now  happy  in  meditating  on  the  mer- 
its of  a  Saviour.'  Though  his  feelings  were  less  ani- 
mated, (he  possessed  constitutional  equanimity,)  his 

[256] 


1807]  ENGAGEMENT 

resignation  in  sickness,  and  his  faith  in  the  hour  of 
death,  were  equal  to  my  sister's.  Both  have  left  on 
memory  a  savour  of  Heavenly  things." 

To  Ruth  Kurd: 

"Concord,  Jan.  14th,  1807. 

"Ever  dear  Ruth,  reserving  for  next  week  an  an- 
swer to  your  last  kind  letter,  for  which  I  most  af- 
fectionately thank  you,  I  would  now  express  the  so- 
licitude I  feel  for  your  health,  and  that  of  our  dear 
Hannah.  Caution  the  most  scrupulous  is  necessary. 
Do  not  attend  meeting.  Communion  with  a  God 
Omnipresent  is  confined  to  no  spot; — intercourse 
with  a  Saviour  who  is  'with  us  always,'  is  as  practi- 
cable in  the  silence  of  night,  and  the  pillow  may 
form  an  altar  from  which  gratitude  and  devotion 
may  ascend  as  acceptably,  as  from  His  Temple." 

To  Susan  Lowell: 

"Concord,  January  16th,  1807. 
"  Though  certain  of  my  ever  dear  Susan's  sympa- 
thy, its  kind  expression  in  her  letter  of  this  morning 
was  welcome  and  precious.  The  perfect  resignation, 
and  firm  tranquillity,  flowing  from  habitual  religion, 
which  marked  the  illness,  and  rendered  the  depart- 
ure of  my  brother  sublime,  is  balm  to  our  hearts. 
Perfectly  sensible  to  the  last  moment,  confiding  en- 
tirely in  the  Love  of  God  through  a  Mediator, 
with  calm  dignity  he  quitted  this  world,  and  with 
fixed  hope  entered  another. 

[257] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isor 

"If  my  dear  Susan  could  know,  (and  she  shall 
know,)  every  circumstance  relative  to  a  late  event, 
she  would  instantly  acquit  me  of  every  shadow  of 
disingenuousness.  She  was  the  first  friend  out  of 
town,  to  whom  I  suggested  a  syllable, — Mary  Em- 
erson excepted,  who  has  long  been  the  confidante  of 
Mr.  White.  To  know  my  friend  has  long  possessed 
the  esteem  of  my  dear  Susan  is  to  me  delightful ;  she 
will  not  regard  him  less  warmly  for  knowing  his  af- 
fection to  be  the  dearest  earthly  treasure  of  her  Mary. 
For  years  I  have  admired  his  general  character;  for 
many  months  the  finer  traits  of  tenderness,  delicacy, 
and  benevolence,  by  which  he  is  distinguished  in 
private  life,  have  been  unfolding  to  me,  and  could 
not  fail  to  interest.  Our  personal  acquaintance  is  re- 
cent ;  on  his  part  it  has  been  marked  by  feeling,  del- 
icacy and  honour,  and  your  friend  has  not  been  in- 
sensible. I  have  ardently  wished  to  see,  and  to  im- 
part to  my  friend  everything  which  could  interest  her 
in  an  event  to  me  so  important.  When  will  that  hap- 
piness be  mine?" 

My  mother's  diary  of  this  period,  the  last,  so  far 
as  I  remember,  that  we  have  from  her  pen,  concludes 
as  follows: 

"January,  1807.  Eventful  month !  Thine  entrance 
beheld  a  brother  committed  to  the  tomb.  Thy  prog- 
ress has  witnessed  the  growth  of  an  attachment 
founded  on  esteem  the  most  perfect, — confidence 
the  most  entire. 

[258] 


isor]  ENGAGEMENT 

"January  18th.  On  this  Thy  day,  Father  of  mer- 
cies !  Giver  of  every  good !  I  would  present  myself 
before  Thee,  to  celebrate  Thy  beneficence.  Verily, 
Thou  art  a  Father  to  the  fatherless !  Thou  hast  not 
ceased  to  protect  and  bless  me,  from  the  dawn  of  be- 
ing to  the  present  moment.  From  Thee  I  derive  every 
blessing,  and  the  value  of  every  blessing  is  enhanced 
by  this  consideration.  I  delight,  especially,  in  record- 
ing the  goodness  that  preserved  me  from  every  other 
connection,  to  unite  my  fate  with  that  of  the  human 
being  I  most  respect  and  love." 

My  father  to  my  mother: 

"Newbury  Port,  Jan.  19th,  1807. 
"  I  am  returned,  my  dearest  love,  to  my  books  and 
business,  in  health,  but  with  little  power  of  applica- 
tion to  either.  I  cannot  withdraw  my  mind  from  the 
delightful  contemplation  of  the  dear  object  of  my 
heart,  who  inspires  and  possesses  my  whole  soul,  who 
has  led  all  my  affections  into  a  most  enchanting  cap- 
tivity. O  my  Mary!  my  inestimably  precious  and 
dear  Mary,  permit  me  this  once  to  pour  out  my  feel- 
ings of  love  and  gratitude !  Yet  I  cannot.  I  have  no 
words  for  the  fulness  of  my  heart.  May  I  be  blest 
with  a  sympathy  in  your  feelings,  which  will  speak 
better  than  words !  And  *  may  the  ever  present,  the 
ever  beneficent  Being,'  in  whose  hand  our  breath  is, 
and  whose  are  all  our  ways,  accept  the  effusions  of 
my  gratitude  for  His  Providential  goodness,  and 

[259] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [uor 

make  me  worthy  to  enjoy  His  richest  gifts !  I  never 
before  realized  such  a  lively  sense  of  gratitude  to 
Heaven ;  I  never  before  knew  the  extent  of  my  feel- 
ings ;  I  never  dared  to  hope  in  this  life  for  the  happi- 
ness I  now  feel.  I  am  not  romantic ;  I  am  solemnly 
serious ;  and  Oh,  my  lovely  friend,  lovely  in  every 
charm  that  can  interest  and  elevate  the  heart,  it  is 
with  a  hallowed  affection,  I  yield  to  your  power,  in  a 
confidence  that  knows  no  bounds.  I  am  sure  to  incur 
no  risk  in  acknowledging  the  full  extent  of  your 
power  over  my  affections.  I  feel  that  it  is  a  heavenly 
power,  calculated  to  improve  my  heart  and  life,  to 
animate  my  devotions,  and  to  elevate  my  eternal 
hopes.  May  it  ever  be  blest  to  our  mutual  improve- 
ment and  happiness.  May  our  Heavenly  Father  ever 
smile  upon  the  union  of  our  affections,  and  bless  all 
our  wishes  and  exertions  for  each  other,  and  may 
He,  my  dear  love,  'conduct  us  innocently  through 
life,  and  receive  us  tenderly  to  His  bosom  in  death.'" 

Her  reply  is  as  follows: 

"Concord,  January  21st,  1807. 
"Tears, — irrepressible  tears, — more  truly,  more 
tenderly  than  language  can,  expressed  the  feelings 
of  my  heart  on  reading  the  letter  of  my  dearest  friend. 
And  the  Source  of  felicity,  'the  Giver  of  every  good 
gift,'  alone  knows  how  fervently  I  pray  that  your 
hopes  may  not  be  disappointed,  that  we  may  be  mu- 
tual and  everlasting  blessings  to  each  other.  And 

[260] 


1807]  ENGAGEMENT 

such,  I  trust,  He  will  make  us.  'T  is  not  for  a  day — 
for  a  year — for  life — no,  my  dear  friend — I  confess 
to  you,  were  our  affection  to  terminate  on  this  side 
the  grave,  did  its  hopes,  its  prospects,  extend  no  fur- 
ther, I  should  not  have  courage  to  harbour  it.  But  I 
do  believe  I  shall  love  eternally  the  virtues  I  now 
love;  I  do  believe  the  sympathy  of  feeling  which 
attracted  us  on  earth,  will  be  equally  attractive  in 
Heaven.  I  fear  to  say  too  much;  yet,  such  is  the 
confidence  I  feel  in  you,  a  confidence  surprising  even 
to  myself,  that  I  know  not  how  to  unfold  to  you  less 
than  my  whole  heart.  Ah,  my  friend !  if  that  heart 
should  ever  be  less  dear  to  you !  but  I  do  not  fear — I 
know  that  in  your  character  candour  and  constancy 
are  not  less  conspicuous  than  tenderness. 

"The  storm  on  the  Sabbath  prevented  my  attend- 
ing public  worship;  I  remained  at  home,  and  read 
two  of  Saurin's  sermons.  If  you  have  not  seen  his  fifth 
volume,  you  have  not  seen  the  perfection  of  elo- 
quence. On  that  morning,  my  soul  expanded  with 
unusual  gratitude  to  the  Father  of  mercies ;  and,  per- 
haps, the  voice  of  conscience  influenced  my  choice 
of  a  sermon  on  'Transient  Devotion.'  It  is,  all  in  all, 
superior  to  any  human  production  I  ever  met  with. 
I  cannot  refrain  from  giving  you  an  extract ;  I  know 
your  soul  will  ascend  with  the  devout  author.  *O 
Almighty  God!  we  humbly  beseech  Thee,  enable 
us  in  the  offerings  we  make  to  Thee,  to  resemble 
Thee  in  the  favours  Thou  bestowest  upon  us!  Thy 
gifts  to  us  are  without  repentance,  Thy  covenant  with 

[261] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isor 

us  contains  this  clause, "  The  mountains  shall  depart, 
and  the  hills  be  removed,  but  my  kindness  shall  not 
depart  from  thee,  neither  shall  the  covenant  of  my 
peace  be  removed.  I  have  sworn  that  I  will  not  be 
wroth  with  thee."  Oh,  that  our  offerings  to  Thee  may 
be  without  repentance!  Oh,  that  we  may  be  enabled 
to  reply,  "The  mountains  shall  depart,  and  the  hills 
be  removed,  but  my  fidelity  shall  never  depart  from 
Thee,  neither  shall  the  dedication  which  I  have  made 
of  myself  to  Thee,  ever  be  removed.  I  have  sworn, 
and  I  will  perform  it,  that  I  will  keep  Thy  righteous 
judgments.  Amen.'" 

"  I  hailed  the  unclouded  sun  with  more  than  usual 
pleasure  on  Friday ;  for  I  was  not  a  little  apprehen- 
sive that,  with  your  interesting  companion,  you  might 
suffer  from  an  unpleasant  day.  You  saw  our  excel- 
lent Mary  [Emerson].  You  admire  he'r  -for  her  own 
sake ;  I  entreat  you  to  love  her  for  mine.  Imperfect 
as  I  am,  and  illy  as  I  have  profited  by  her  admoni- 
tions, you  know  not  how  much  I  owe  her.  Coura- 
geous in  correcting,  and  generous  in  commending, 
she  stimulates  her  friends  to  the  pursuit  of  excellence, 
by  every  motive  and  by  every  method  that  piety,  good 
sense,  and  affection  can  suggest." 

To  Ann  Bromfield: 

"Concord,  January  21st,  1807. 
"The  cordial  sympathy  of  my  dear  Ann,  and  the 
approbation  and  blessing  of  her  revered  parent,  dif- 

[262] 


1807]  ENGAGEMENT 

fused  a  glow  of  pleasure  through  my  soul.  To  my 
friend  I  do  gratefully  acknowledge  the  beneficence 
of  that  Being  who  has  preserved  me  from  other  con- 
nections, and  who,  in  the  best  time  and  manner,  has 
bestowed  upon  me  a  heart  of  inestimable  value.  I 
fully  appreciate  it — and  only  pray  that  I  may  not 
too  highly  prize  it.  Like  you,  dear  Ann,  I  dare  not 
anticipate,  fixedly  anticipate,  future  happiness  on 
earth.  Else  should  I  dwell  with  delight  on  the  pros- 
pect of  being  one  day  near  you,  of  frequently  com- 
muning with  you,  of  associating  with  you  and  your 
admirable  mother,  till  I  should  become  in  some  de- 
gree like  the  friends  I  admire  and  love.  Am  I  sin- 
gularly depraved  when  I  confess  receiving  pleasure 
from  a  knowledge  that  even  Ann  was  vulnerable  to 
jealousy,  when  the  affection  of  a  friend  was  its  object, 
and  that  friend  was  myself?  But,  most  unjust  was 
the  apprehension  that  you  could  ever  inspire  less  than 
the  most  heart-felt  esteem  and  cordial  love.  Should 
Providence  conduct  us  to  each  other,  and  protract 
our  lives,  you  will,  I  trust,  receive  the  most  entire 
conviction  of  this  truth. 

"Our  dear  Sarah  will  probably  present  you  these 
hasty,  but  affectionate  pages.  Alas!  on  what  scenes 
is  she  entering!  The  family  of  Mrs.  Farnham  must 
interest  every  heart.  Have  you  ever  noticed  partic- 
ularly the  second  daughter,  Louisa?  She  has,  of  late, 
passed  some  weeks  in  Concord,  and  seldom  have  I 
beheld  a  countenance  more  interesting,  from  its  ex- 
pression of  tender  melancholy,  or  manners  more  at- 

[263] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [law 

tractive  from  their  affectionate  simplicity.  You  know 
the  mother,  and  feel  the  severe  deprivation  these  in- 
nocents must  soon  experience.  We  do,  indeed,  firmly 
believe  the  orphans'  Friend  will  be  their  guardian, 
but  we  cannot  behold  the  excellent  mother  of  a  nu- 
merous family  'fade  as  a  flower,'  in  the  bloom  of  life, 
without  anguish." 

Of  Mr.  Popkin,  who  was  afterwards  her  pastor, 
and,  throughout  his  life,  one  of  my  father's  most  hon- 
oured and  beloved  friends,  she  says,  in  reference  to 
his  sermons :  "  One  would  imagine  the  spirit  of  Scou- 
gal  had  descended  to  animate  a  second  time,  the 
form  of  humanity." 

My  father  to  my  mother,  in  reply  to  hers  of  Jan- 
uary 21st: 

"Newbury  Port,  Jan.  23rd,  1801. 

"  Had  anything  been  wanting,  my  dearest  Mary, 
to  complete  my  happiness,  your  tender  and  elevating 
letter  would  have  supplied  it.  Accept  my  warmest 
thanks  for  all  your  goodness.  Never,  never,  I  trust, 
will  my  Mary  have  cause  to  repent  her  confidence 
in  one  who  has  yielded  to  her  his  whole  heart,  and 
lives  no  less  for  her  than  for  himself.  Our  hearts,  I 
trust,  will  bear  exposure  to  each  other  with  all  the 
frankness  of  sincere  friendship  and  love.  For  myself, 
I  feel  no  more  a  wish,  than  I  have  the  power,  to  con- 
ceal anything  from  my  dearest  friend.  But  I  will  not 
trouble  you  with  more  professions;  you  know  you 
possess  my  whole  heart,  and  you  will  always  find  it 

[264] 


1807]  ENGAGEMENT 

open  to  your  inspection.  May  you  ever  view  it  with 
pleasure,  though  you  find  much  to  correct,  and  much 
to  lament:  may  the  sincerity  of  its  love,  and  the  hon- 
esty of  its  intentions  draw  the  mantle  of  your  can- 
dour over  its  errors  and  imperfections :  and  may  the 
Father  of  lights  inspire  me  with  wisdom  and  good- 
ness to  secure  your  affection,  and  mingle  my  joys 
with  yours,  not  only  in  this  imperfect  state  of  good 
and  evil,  but  throughout  our  whole  existence! 

"  I  have  just  finished  reading  the  inimitably  beau- 
tiful and  excellent  story  of '  Rasselas,'  and  am  so  im- 
pressed with  its  beauty  and  excellence,  that  I  can- 
not avoid  speaking  of  it  to  my  dear  Mary.  The  story 
is  undoubtedly  calculated  to  leave  the  mind  pensive, 
solemn,  and  thoughtful,  if  not  gloomy,  and  I  don't 
know  that  it  has  not  served  to  give  me  a  sort  of  ap- 
prehension that  my  present  happiness  is  too  great, 
and  my  prospects  too  bright,  for  such  a  world  as  this. 
My  mind,  however,  is  not  apt  to  cherish  such  appre- 
hensions, or  of  a  nature  to  suffer  from  the  story  of 
Rasselas.  But,  granting  the  picture  of  human  life  as 
here  drawn  to  be  too  deeply  shaded,  yet,  what  pro- 
found reflections,  what  just  and  useful  observations, 
what  accurate  and  beautiful  descriptions  from  the 
moral  and  natural  world,  abound !  What  taste,  what 
elegance  of  language,  what  powers  of  reasoning,  what 
knowledge  of  nature,  of  mankind,  and  the  various 
conditions  of  life,  are  most  happily  and  forcibly  dis- 
played !  What  charms  of  sentiment  and  imagery,  of 
truth,  wisdom,  and  eloquence,  are  all  combined  to 

[265] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [IBOT 

fascinate,  exalt,  and  improve  our  minds!  From  my 
heart  would  I  pity  and  forgive  that  disposition  to 
morbid  melancholy  in  the  mighty  mind  of  Johnson, 
which  inclined  perhaps  too  greatly  to  darken  the  pic- 
ture. At  the  time  of  writing  this  work,  he  was  sol- 
itary, and  had  just  lost  his  mother ;  to  defray  whose 
debts  and  funeral  charges,  it  is  said,  the  work  was 
composed  in  the  evenings  of  one  week !  No  one,  per- 
haps, can  realize  the  sufferings  of  this  great  and  good 
man,  without  possessing  his  strong  feelings  and  gi- 
gantic talents ;  but  he  that  can  contemplate  his  ever- 
returning  pains  and  sorrows  amidst  his  ardent  zeal 
and  exertions  for  the  promotion  of  virtue,  piety,  and 
human  happiness,  and  not  feel  his  heart  melt  in  rev- 
erential compassion,  is  surely  not  much  to  be  envied. 
Johnson  had  no  vices ;  and  his  failings  are  nothing 
before  the  bright  constellation  of  his  virtues  and  ex- 
cellences. But  I  was  speaking  of  his  'Rasselas,'  and 
would  just  add,  that  though  the  evils  and  sorrows 
of  this  present  world  are  so  strikingly  portrayed  as 
to  sink  it  in  our  estimation,  yet  human  nature  is  pre- 
sented in  a  dignified  and  endearing  view.  This  distin- 
guishes him  from  the  misanthropist.  We  find  nothing 
to  disgust  us  with  our  species,  and  freeze  our  souls 
with  horror.  All  has  a  tendency  to  soften  and  sol- 
emnize the  heart,  and  prepare  it  for  deeper  impres- 
sions of  virtue  and  piety ;  and  to  induce  us  to  exclaim 
with  the  princess: — 'To  me,  the  choice  of  life  is  be- 
come less  important ;  I  hope,  hereafter,  to  think  only 
on  the  choice  of  eternity.'" 

[266] 


1807]  ENGAGEMENT 

From  my  father  to  my  mother: 

"Newbury  Port,  January  29th,  1807. 

"Your  letter  of  yesterday,  my  dear  Mary,  has 
proved  a  most  delightful  cordial  to  my  spirits.  It 
found  them  drooping  under  a  very  severe  head-ache, 
which  I  have  suffered  through  the  day,  and  am  in- 
debted for,  probably,  to  intense  and  long-continued 
application  to  Selfridge's  trial  last  evening.  This  pre- 
vented my  setting  off  for  Concord  this  morning; 
otherwise  I  was  well  enough.  My  indisposition  was 
owing  to  an  ordinary  cold  only.  Indeed,  to  this  source 
I  so  invariably  trace  the  slight  interruptions  my 
health  experiences,  that  I  was  not  aware  you  might 
be  liable  to  receive  any  other  impression.  But,  my 
dear,  I  presume  your  solicitude  has  given  me  quite 
as  much  pleasure  as  it  possibly  could  give  you  pain ; 
so,  you  see,  nothing  is  lost  between  us.  I  have  now 
the  pleasure  to  assure  you  I  feel  perfectly  well,  ex- 
cepting a  little  of  the  aforesaid  head-ache.  Selfridge's 
trial,  I  think,  would  entertain  you,  as  giving  a  full 
view  of  our  judicial  proceedings,  and  of  lawyers'  lives 
and  labours.  With  Mr.  Gore,  I  am  sure,  you  will  be 
charmed. 

"On  last  Lord's  Day,  being  detained  at  home,  I 
also  read  two  of  Saurin's  sermons.  They  were  those 
on  the  fear  of  God ;  of  the  last  of  which  I  could  speak 
almost  as  highly  as  you  do  of  that  on  transient  de- 
votion. I  believe  I  shall  become  as  enthusiastic  in 
my  admiration  of  this  sublime  and  eloquent  preacher 

[267] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

as  yourself.  But  how  much  will  be  owing  to  your  in- 
fluence, I  cannot  say.  Sure  I  am  always  to  feel  thank- 
ful for  that  influence.  I  begin  to  suspect  that  your 
power  will  not  be  confined  to  my  feelings,  but  will 
make  my  sentiments,  opinions,  and  even  taste  bow 
to  it." 

I  find  that  my  father  has  preserved,  in  the  same 
package  with  these  letters  of  my  mother's  and  his 
own,  one  which  my  mother  received  at  this  time  from 
her  friend  Mr.  Frisbie.  This  indicates  the  peculiar 
respect  my  father  felt  for  their  friendship.  It  also  in- 
dicates his  own  strong  and  tender  attachment  to  Mr. 
Frisbie,  to  which  I  have  so  often  heard  him  give  ex- 
pression. I  remember  my  father's  account  of  his  last 
interview  with  Mr.  Frisbie,  a  few  days  before  his 
death.  Mr.  Frisbie  had  had  a  dread  of  the  last  awful 
change — a  dread  which  he  considered  the  effect  of 
the  gloomy  religious  associations  of  his  childhood. 
In  moments  of  depression  induced  by  disease  he 
could  not  wholly  prevent  the  influence  of  these  early 
impressions  upon  his  mind.  But  on  my  father's  last 
visit  to  him,  immediately  upon  receiving  him,  Mr. 
Frisbie  said,  "You  know  what  a  dread  of  death  I 
have  had.  I  can  now  not  only  view  it  with  perfect 
calmness,  but  the  prospect  of  the  future  world  is  de- 
lightful to  me."  I  remember  my  father's  saying,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes,  that  among  other  visions  of  the 
future,  Mr.  Frisbie  said,  "I  shall  see  your  Mary." 

The  following  is  a  copy  of  the  letter: 
[268] 


1807]  ENGAGEMENT 

"Ipswich,  January  26th,  1807. 

"  If,  my  dear  sister,  my  visual  faculties  would  per- 
mit, I  should  have  much  to  reply  to  your  letter.  And 
first,  I  should  reproach  thee  as  becometh  a  disap- 
pointed lover.  Knowest  thou  not  that,  for  more  than 
three  years,  I  have  been  in  love  with  thee  myself; 
at  least,  so  saith  the  world,  and  the  world,  thou  art 
aware,  always  concerning  such  subjects  judgeth 
aright.  Next,  I  would  ask  thee,  if  thou  art  now  about 
to  take  thy  departure  for  Bethlehem,  as  thou  speak- 
est  of  prospects  of  felicity,  and  this  was  once  a  fa- 
vourite plan  of  thine?  If  so,  I  will  e'en  bear  thee 
company,  and  take  the  veil  too. 

"But  pardon  me  this  trifling:  I  will  be  more  se- 
rious. I  thank  you  for  the  confidence  and  the  friend- 
ship of  your  letter.  As  I  cannot  say  all  I  would  upon 
the  subject,  from  my  eyes,  I  shall  merely  observe 
that  I  rejoice  in  your  prospects,  and  pray  you  may 
enjoy  every  blessing  you  can  reasonably  anticipate." 

On  my  father's  return  home,  accompanied  by  Miss 
Sarah  Ripley,  after  a  visit  in  Concord,  he  writes  as 
follows : 

"Newbury  Port,  Feb.  7th,  1807. 
"The  day  we  left  you  was  rather  cold,  but  our 
ride  was  pleasant,  and,  having  dined,  and  passed  two 
or  three  hours  with  our  excellent  friend  at  Maiden 
[Miss  Emerson],  we  reached  Salem  before  dark. 
Sarah  passed  the  night  with  Miss  Lawrence,  and 
your  friend  with  Mr.  Pickering,  and  all  very  agree- 

[269] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [WOT 

ably.  How  yesterday  morning  opened  upon  us,  you 
must  recollect.  We  ventured  to  set  out  in  the  midst 
of  the  violence  of  the  storm,  but,  having  proceeded 
as  far  as  Beverly,  I  insisted  on  leaving  Sarah  at  Mr. 
Brown's,  where  they  strongly  urged  me  to  tarry 
also ;  but,  being  obliged  if  possible  to  reach  home 
yesterday,  and  fearing  lest  the  storm  of  snow  would 
block  us  up  too  long,  I  continued  my  journey,  and 
arrived  at  home  just  as  the  storm  ceased.  Sarah  came 
on  in  the  stage  in  the  afternoon,  and  here  we  both 
now  are,  grateful  and  happy.  My  ride  was,  to  be 
sure,  solitary  and  tempestuous  from  Beverly,  but  not 
unpleasant.  The  dearest  and  the  tenderest  recollec- 
tions filled  my  heart,  and  made  me  insensible  to  the 
raging  elements  without.  My  thoughts  dwelt  on  my 
inexpressibly  dear  friend,  and  I  would  have  cheer- 
fully encountered  all  the  storms  of  nature,  for  the 
joy  of  seeing  that  friend.  Did  you  never  experience, 
my  beloved  Mary,  that,  after  parting  from  a  friend, 
dearer  to  you  than  all  the  world,  you  for  some  time 
could  feel  no  other  wish,  but  to  renew  your  inter- 
view with  that  friend  ?  I  am  sure  you  have,  and  will 
not  accuse  me  of  weakness  if  during  the  pensiveness 
of  the  storm  yesterday,  I  found  my  heart  melt  with- 
in me,  and  my  eyes  overflow,  without  being  able  to 
assign  any  reason  for  it,  satisfactory  to  the  schools. 
Oh,  my  love !  do  not  forget  to  cherish  and  preserve 
your  health,  Write  only  what  is  necessary — but  to 
me  as  much  as  you  can  without  injuring  yourself, 
and  no  more.  Let  me  know,  my  dearest  love,  a  few 

[270] 


i«o7]  ENGAGEMENT 

lines  as  soon  as  possible,  and  remember  you  have  in 
your  power  all  the  happiness  of  your  devoted  friend, 

D.  A.  W." 

My  mother  to  my  father: 

"Concord,  February  5th,  1807. 

"Friday  morning.  Am  I  departing  from  the  letter, 
4  or  obeying  the  spirit  of  the  law  of  kindness  which  in- 
terdicted writing  ?  Till  I  can  receive  the  opinion  of 
my  counsellor,  I  shall  determine  in  favour  of  the 
latter  opinion,  and  act  accordingly.  And  this,  too, 
without  personal  injury;  for,  by  writing  ten  minutes 
in  the  morning,  afternoon,  and  evening,  a  letter  may 
be  easily  completed  without  fatigue. 

"Monday  morning.  My  plan  was  blighted  in  the 
bud — unexpected  company,  etc.,  etc.,  stole  from  me 
the  pleasure  I  anticipated,  in  devoting  to  my  heart's 
dearest  friend  a  little  part  of  each  portion  of  the  day. 
Your  letter  was  expected  with  anxiety,  received  with 
eagerness,  and  read  with  delight.  But,  why  attempt 
to  express  the  inexpressible  feelings  originating  in  a 
sentiment  in  itself  indefinable,  and  which  can  only  be 
felt.  Let  your  affection  interpret  what  would  be  un- 
intelligible to  indifference:  to  that  I  refer  you  for 
a  picture  of  all  the  solicitude,  the  confidence,  the  anx- 
ieties, and  hopes,  that  swell  the  soul,  wresting  from 
every  other  object  the  attention — obtruding  even  on 
devotion.  Yes,  obtruding. 

"My  dear  mother  peremptorily  forbids  another 
page.  A  little  cold  taken  yesterday  at  church  has 

[271] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [WOT 

stimulated  the  kind  monitor  in  my  side;  it  unites 
with  her  in  warning  me  to  close.  Farewell,  with  truth, 
with  prayers,  constant  and  fervent,  for  your  present 
and  future  felicity,  your  MARY. 

"  Do  not  be  anxious.  I  assure  you  my  cold  is  slight." 

To  this  letter  my  father  replies : 

"Newbury  Port,  Feb.  10th,  1807. 

"  Indeed,  my  dearest  love,  my  feelings  at  once  de- 
clare that  you  follow  both  the  letter  and  the  spirit  of 
the  law  of  kindness,  when  you  write  to  me.  Out  of 
your  presence,  I  can  receive  nothing  to  be  called 
pleasure,  in  comparison  with  the  delight  your  letters 
afford.  Yes,  my  heavenly  friend,  write  to  me  as  much 
and  as  often  as  you  can,  without  injury  and  without 
fatigue ;  and  be  assured  that  volumes  to  others  can- 
not possibly  produce  so  much  happiness  as  a  single 
line  to  me.  Your  plan  I  think  excellent,  and  hope 
you  will  be  able  in  this  way  to  give  me  happiness, 
without  suffering  yourself. 

"What  could  induce  you,  what  could  induce  you, 
my  Mary,  to  expose  yourself  at  Church  in  the  sever- 
est of  weather  ?  You  have  all  the  means  and  all  the 
feelings  of  devotion  at  home,  and  where  and  what  is 
the  counsellor  who  advises  you  abroad  at  the  risk  of 
your  health?  In  vain  do  you  forbid  anxiety — nothing 
but  assurance  of  your  perfect  health  can  prevent  it.  I 

[272] 


1807]  ENGAGEMENT 

wish  not  to  alarm  you  or  myself,  but  your  *  kind  mon- 
itor '  may  possibly  prove  most  unkind,  at  least  to  me. 
It  surely  ought  not  to  be  needlessly  roused.  Do,  my 
dear  Mary,  try  some  expedient  to  estimate  the  impor- 
tance of  your  health  to  my  happiness ;  and,  then,  I 
shall  be  sure,  from  your  benevolence  and  compassion 
at  least,  of  all  the  attention  to  yourself  I  wish.  I  know 
this  is  all  tedious  to  you,  but  I  cannot  repress  my  so- 
licitude— do  relieve  me  by  a  few  lines  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible. Tell  me  you  are  well,  and  mean  to  be  kind  and 
attentive  to  your  precious,  your  inestimably  precious 
self — where  are  all  my  heart's  dearest  treasures, — all 
its  tenderest  joys,  and  hopes,  and  wishes.  Oh,  may 
that  kind  Being, who  loves  us  better  than  we  our- 
selves, protect  and  tenderly  cherish  you,  and  preserve 
and  prepare  us  both  for  pure  and  never-ending  hap- 
piness ! 

"Our  excellent  pastor  gave  us  a  very  pious  and 
excellent  discourse  last  Lord's  Day,  and  very  feeling 
and  appropriate,  on  cold  weather,  from  Psalm  147, 
16th  and  17th  verses.  It  made  me,  for  the  moment, 
almost  forget  that  intense  cold  was  an  evil — little 
did  I  think  my  dearest  friend  was  then  suffering; 
though  I  could  not,  amidst  all  the  charms  of  the 
preacher  on  the  subject,  forget  her, — for  I  am  sadly 
exposed  to  obtrusions — but,  while  my  attention  is 
withdrawn  by  them,  my  feelings  acquire  animation, 
and  return  with  more  ardour  and  heart-felt  gratitude 
to  devotion,  and  I  hope  therefore  to  be  forgiven." 

[273] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

My  mother  to  my  father: 

"Concord,  Thursday  morning. 
"  Soon  after  closing  my  last  to  my  beloved  friend, 
I  was  attacked  with  every  symptom  of  a  lung  fever. 
The  applications  made  have  reduced  the  disease.  I 
am  now  sitting  up,  and  much  better,  though  debil- 
itated by  bleeding,  blisters,  etc.  I  do  not  wish  to  see 
you  at  the  risk  of  your  health,  or  any  serious  incon- 
venience, but  you  are  constantly  in  the  thoughts, 
and  inexpressibly  dear  to  the  heart  of  your 
Ever  faithful  and  affectionate 

MARY. 

"Come  not  but  in  pleasant  weather.  You  see  I  am 
not  very  sick — writing  is  demonstration." 

As  might  be  expected,  this  letter  brought  my 
father  to  Concord.  On  his  return  to  Newburyport, 
he  writes: 

"Feb.  18th,  1807. 

"  I  have  only  a  moment  before  our  mail  closes ;  for, 
if  you  will  believe  me,  we  did  not  reach  home  till  in 
the  evening  of  yesterday!  I  lost  entirely  one  day, 
which  I  might  have  enjoyed  with  my  beloved  Mary. 
The  cold  on  Monday  was  much  more  severe  than  I 
had  expected, and  when  I  called  at  Maiden, our  friend 
there  [Miss  Emerson],  at  once  protested  against  com- 
ing on  the  whole  way,  and  would  consent  to  accom- 
pany me  only  on  condition  that  I  would  pass  the 
night  at  Salem  or  Beverly.  We  accordingly  came 
that  way,  and  put  up  at  Mr.  Brown's,  in  Beverly.  I 

[274] 


1807]  ENGAGEMENT 

felt  none  the  better  for  the  journey,  but  Mrs.  Brown, 
with  true  motherly  kindness,  nursed  me  up,  and  we 
might  have  come  home  yesterday  morning,  had  I 
not  laboured  under  a  mistake,  and  supposed  I  was 
too  unwell.  Dr.  Fisher,  however,  cured  my  mistake, 
told  me  nothing  was  the  matter,  and  I  might  come 
as  soon  as  I  pleased :  and  I  am  thankful  to  find,  this 
snowy  morning,  that  we  are  safe  at  home,  and  very 
well.  My  slight  cold,  (the  infirmity  which  most  easily 
besets  me,)  has  already  left  me  almost  wholly,  and 
I  have  only  to  think  of  my  ever  dear  and  lovely  Mary. 
How  happy  should  I  be,  could  I  but  look  upon  you 
once  a  day,  and  witness  the  joy  of  returning  health! 
But  health  is  not  necessary  to  make  my  Mary  in- 
teresting and  lovely.  I  can  almost  speak  of  the  charms 
of  sickness.  O  my  dearest  love,  what  an  ornament  is 
a  'meek  and  quiet  spirit,'  adorned  with  all  the  tender 
virtues  and  Christian  graces!  Never  could  I  have 
seen  my  friend  more  interesting  to  my  heart.  I  will 
not  be  anxious ;  you  are  cherished  by  the  attentions 
of  most  affectionate  friends,  tenderly  guarded  by 
your  earthly  and  your  heavenly  Parent.  We  have 
always  cause  for  joy,  for  we  are  constantly  under  the 
care  and  protection  of  that  kind,  almighty  Being, 
whose  tender  mercies  are  over  all  His  works. 

"Adieu,  my  dearest,  my  ever  precious  love.  God 
will  bless  and  preserve  you,  and  with  your  health 
and  happiness  make  entirely  happy 

"Your  most  faithful  and  affectionate 

D.  A.  W." 
[275] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [itw 

From  my  grandmother  to  my  father: 

"Concord,  Feb.  19th. 

"  'As  cold  water  to  a  thirsty  soul,  so  is  good  news 
from  a  far  country.'  Our  dear  Mary  is  better,  and, 
as  her  amanuensis  communicates  the  intelligence, 
her  fever  appears  to  have  left  her,  her  sleep  easy  and 
refreshing.  She  is  still  very  weak,  but  better  than 
when  you  left  her.  We  ardently  hope  she  will  be 
spared  for  many  years,  as  her  life  is  very  precious  to 
her  friends." 

To  this  my  mother  adds  the  following: 

"Dearest  of  human  beings,  as  a  tribute  of  grat- 
itude for  past,  and  the  promise  of  future  blessings, 
let  us  offer  to  God  an  entire  sacrifice  of  ourselves. 
In  public  and  in  private,  let  us  enter  anew  into  cov- 
enant with  the  Almighty,  who  condescends  to  be  our 
Covenant  God.  Mamma  wrote  the  above,  but  no  eye 
inspects  this.  I  seal  it  myself." 

In  reply  to  my  father's  letter  of  the  18th,  my 
mother,  made  anxious  by  that  letter,  writes  to  him 

as  follows: 

"Concord,  Feb.  20th. 

"Friday  morning.  You  are  not  well.  I  ought  not 
to  have  consented  to  your  returning  on  so  cold  a 
day.  Write  soon,  and  honestly.  Tell  me  just  how  you 
are,  and,  if  you  love — truly  love — your  Mary,  guard 
attentively  against  the  foe  that  most  easily  besets 
you. 

[276] 


1807]  ENGAGEMENT 

"Saturday  morning.  I  hope  I  am  childish  and 
grieving  causelessly,  but  I  have  no  letter  this  morn- 
ing, and  cannot  but  apprehend.  My  own  health 
continues  to  improve,  but  I  have  little  increase  of 
strength.  If  I  were  well,  I  should  fear  less, — for  it 
would  be  possible  to  see  you  if  you  were  ill,  and  that 
possibility  would  be  a  relief.  But  you  are  the  care 
of  a  Being  who  is  equally  present  in  all  places,  and 
of  whose  power  and  beneficence  I  am,  at  this  mo- 
ment, a  monument.  I  rejoice  you  are  at  His  disposal 
who  wills  only  the  happiness  of  His  creatures,  and  I 
will  cheer  my  poor  heart  with  the  idea  that  He 
would  not  so  singularly  have  united  our  affections, 
had  He  designed  an  immediate  separation. 

"  Let  me  hear  from  you  soon,  and  do  not  give  me 
present  peace,  at  the  expense  of  future  confidence, 
by  deceiving  me  with  respect  to  your  health." 

On  February  21st,  her  friend  Sarah  Ripley,  who 
was  then  in  Newburyport,  wrote  to  her,  and  my 
father  added  a  postscript  of  half  a  page.  On  Febru- 
ary 23d  he  wrote  again: 

"  I  need  not,  I  cannot  describe,  my  dearest  Mary, 
the  emotions  I  felt  at  sight  of  your  letter  to-day, 
charmingly  greeting  me  in  your  own  fair  and  steady 
hand,  as  your  letters  were  wont  to  do  in  your  better 
health.  I  am  thankful,  above  all  expression,  that  you 
are  so  well,  and  am  delighted,  as  you  alone  can  con- 
ceive, by  your  letters;  yet  I  entreat  you  to  spare 
your  strength,  and  make  no  untimely  exertions.  Be- 

[277] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isor 

stow  all  your  care  and  all  your  attentive  thoughts 
upon  yourself.  I  am  distressed  for  the  pain  I  have 
given  you,  for  the  moments  of  solicitude  on  my  ac- 
count which  you  have  suffered  amidst  such  suffer- 
ings of  your  own,  and  which  I  might  and  ought  to 
have  prevented.  Forgive,  I  pray  you,  my  want  of 
consideration.  I  know  my  Mary  will  forgive  me,  but 
this  will  not  change  the  past.  I  can  form  some  idea 
of  what  may  have  been  her  feelings,  from  what  I 
myself  suffered  on  Thursday.  The  letter  which  I  ex- 
pected with  such  confidence,  and  waited  for  with 
such  anxiety,  did  not  reach  me  that  day,  and  I 
speak  'honestly'  when  I  say  that  I  could  not  then 
write  to  you.  Had  your  letter  arrived,  as  you  doubt- 
less expected  it  did,  you  would  have  received  a  line 
from  me  on  Saturday.  But  as  I  then  supposed,  from 
some  cause  or  other  which  I  could  not  conjecture 
without  infinite  distress,  you  had  thought  proper 
not  to  send  the  letter  which  you  were  so  good  as  to 
promise  me,  I  did  not  think  of  your  expecting  a  letter 
from  me,  even  were  I  perfectly  able  to  write  it.  And, 
on  Saturday,  Sarah's  writing  prevented  my  making 
a  long  letter ;  she  delayed  it  to  the  last  moment,  and 
I  added  without  consideration  a  few  lines,  when  I 
ought  to  have  written  a  letter.  I  say  without  consid- 
eration, for  Mary  Emerson  afterward  told  me  that 
malice  itself  could  not  have  devised  a  more  effectual 
method  to  make  you  anxious.  I  again  entreat  your 
forgiveness,  for  I  must  have  been  criminal,  or  our 
friend  would  not  have  thus  disciplined  me.  I  was 

[278] 


1807]  ENGAGEMENT 

under  two  general  impressions, — that  more  letters 
than  were  necessary  would  not  be  beneficial  to  you, 
and  that  you  could  not  be  solicitous  about  my  health. 
But  what  a  tedious  letter  this !  Mary  Emerson  has 
just  laid  claim  to  a  small  part,  which  I  hope  will 
enliven  the  whole. 

"A  JDieu,  my  love, — tell  your  dear  friends  around 
you  how  grateful  I  feel  for  their  kind  attentions  to 
you.  Be  cheerful  and  happy  as  you  are  good.  A 
most  tender  and  merciful  Being  protects  us  both. 
Health  will  soon  smile  upon  you,  and  may  you  al- 
ways smile  upon  your  undeserving,  but  most  ardently 
and  constantly  affectionate  D.  A.  W." 

Miss  Emerson's  postscript  is  as  follows: 

"I  cannot,  my  beloved  friend,  be  wholly  silent, 
when  I  recall  your  sickness  and  recovery.  Do  be 
careful,  without  anxiety,  of  your  self.  Hope  for  every 
thing,  for  there  is  nothing  too  good  and  too  grand, 
here  and  hereafter,  for  a  Being  infinite  and  happy 
to  bestow.  Times  of  prosperity  often  incite  tender 
anxiety.  Pass  by  these,  and  appreciate  thy  blessings. 
Happiness  is  rare, — but,  perhaps,  a  large  draught 
very  healthy.  *  M.  E." 

From  my  father: 

"Newbury  Port,  Wednesday,  Feb.  25th. 
"  What  would  I  have  given  for  a  line  yesterday, 
telling  me  how  you  were  on  Monday  morning!  As- 

[279] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isor 

sure  your  Mamma  how  thankful  I  felt  for  her  kind- 
ness the  other  day,  and  intreat  that  she,  or  some  of 
your  attentive  friends  around  you,  would  give  me  a 
still  more  minute  account  of  you.  A  full  diary  would 
delight  me ;  indeed,  I  wish  you  had  some  little  Bos- 
well  about  you  to  record  whatever  you  do  or  take, 
all  your  remarkable  sayings  and  delightful  whispers. 
I  would  give  more  for  his  book  than  for  Boswell's 
*  Johnson,'  inestimable  as  it  is." 

From  my  mother: 

"Concord,  Feb.  26th,  1807. 

"  Speak  not  of  forgiveness,  most  dear  and  attentive 
friend ;  I  rather  should  ask  it,  for  the  childish  letter 
with  which  I  troubled  you  on  Monday.  Blessed  be 
the  merciful  Being  who  is,  I  trust,  restoring  health 
to  us  both ;  for  all  the  suffering  He  wisely  inflicts, 
and  for  all  the  rich  blessings  He  kindly  bestows, — 
adored  be  His  name! 

"  I  have  been  thinking,  beloved  friend,  of  the  de- 
sign of  Providence  in  this  illness — some  good  is  in- 
tended by  it — let  us  not  neglect  to  gather  sweet  fruit 
from  the  bitter  tree.  Let  the  fruit  be,  a  deeper  sense 
of  our  entire  dependence  upon  God,  a  more  perfect 
devotion  to  Him,  a  livelier  gratitude,  a  warmer  love, 
a  more  vigilant  attention  to  our  hearts  and  lives! 
Dearest  friend,  I  write  this  less  for  you  than  for  my- 
self; show  me  this  letter  when  you  find  me  back- 
sliding, re-animate  my  devotion  when  you  see  me 
cold  and  lifeless,  by  reminding  me  of  what  I  owe  to 

[280] 


1807]  ENGAGEMENT 

the  Father  of  Mercies,  'who  forgiveth  all  our  iniqui- 
ties, and  healeth  all  our  diseases.'" 

My  father  to  my  mother: 

"Newbury  Port,  Feb.  28th,  1807. 

"My  dearest  love,  for  several  days  I  suffered  an 
inexpressible  anxiety  which  no  exertions  of  my  rea- 
son could  control,  till  the  arrival  of  your  charming, 
your  most  heart-cheering  letter.  I  cannot  avoid  em- 
bracing the  first  opportunity  to  assure  my  beloved 
Mary  how  happy  and  how  grateful  I  feel,  and  how 
fervently  I  pray  that  my  heart  may  never  become  in- 
sensible to  the  goodness  of  our  Father  in  Heaven, 
which  we  are  now  experiencing.  Oh,  may  my  grati- 
tude and  love  to  God  not  pass  away  'as  the  morn- 
ing cloud,  and  as  the  early  dew.'  But  I  shall  always 
need  your  gentle,  stimulating  monitions.  May  I  al- 
ways profit  and  improve  by  them!  What  you  write 
or  speak,  'less  for  me  than  yourself,'  may  I  always 
earnestly  strive  to  improve,  as  I  feel  there  is,  and 
fear  there  ever  must  be,  a  greater  need  of  it  for  me 
than  for  you. 

"Let  me  now  again  entreat  you  to  be  constantly 
careful  of  yourself — now  is  a  most  important  time 
to  your  health — make  no  unnecessary  exertions  of 
your  strength,  let  no  cares  trouble  your  mind;  re- 
member that,  notwithstanding  my  wishes,  I  would 
submit  to  any  delay  rather  than  your  mind  should 
be  exercised  by  any  solicitude. 

"Mrs.  Farnham  is  very  feeble;  she  is  truly  an  ad- 
[281] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [WOT 

mirable  woman.  In  the  multitude  of  thoughts  that 
must  so  tenderly,  so  awfully  exercise  her  mind,  that 
she  can  feel  resignation,  that  she  can  manifest  such 
sweet  composure,  must  indeed,  as  you  once  observed, 
be  the  triumph  of  religion. 

"  When  I  shall  have  the  greatest  happiness  I  can 
now  realize,  that  of  visiting  my  Mary,  I  know  not. 
The  two  coming  weeks  are  the  last  of  doing  business 
for  our  next  court,  which  almost  necessarily  confines 
me." 

My  mother  to  my  father: 

"Concord,  March  2nd,  1807. 

"Monday  morning.  I  would  not  rise  this  morning 
till  I  had  a  letter  to  inspire  me  with  strength  and 
spirits.  Your  affectionate  pages  dispersed  every  cloud 
that  rose  on  Saturday  and  dimmed  the  Sabbath ;  for 
I  had  calculated  on  seeing  my  dearest  friend  at  the 
close  of  the  week.  I  am  now  happy  you  did  not  come. 
I  cannot  wish  to  purchase  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you 
for  a  few  hours  at  the  risk  of  your  health,  at  this  ever- 
varying  season.  Having  consulted  the  almanac,  I 
knew  the  two  ensuing  weeks  must  be  important  to 
your  business.  I  shall  not  therefore  expect  you  till 
the  'time  of  service  is  up.'  Are  you  astonished  at  my 
legal  learning?  I  would  say  something  more  of  it, 
but  that  I  must  not  write  voluminously  as  usual. 

"  I  continue  to  improve  in  health,  and  Papa  thinks 
this  illness  will  prove  advantageous,  should  I  be  spared 
a  relapse.  A  thousand  times  I  thank  you  for  the  ten- 

[282] 


1807]  ENGAGEMENT 

derness  that  would  shield  me  from  danger  and  solic- 
itude. But  solicitude,  of  the  kind  you  allude  to,  has 
never  distressed  me.  I  have  many  kind  friends  who 
are  ready  to  spare  me  every  care,  every  exertion.  I 
wish  to  say  innumerable  things,  but  fear  to  write ;  I 
would  not  injure  your  MARY." 

After  the  proposed  visit  to  Concord  my  father 
writes : 

"Newbury  Port,  March  10th,  1807. 

"  My  dear  Mary  will  not  be  unhappy  to  learn  that 
her  most  affectionate  friend  is  well  and  safe  at  his 
office  this  unpleasant,  stormy  morning.  I  did  not  pass 
through  Methuen  as  I  had  intended.  Finding  the 
bridge  at  Andover  destroyed,  I  turned  aside,  and  en- 
joyed two  hours  at  Madam  Phillips,'  with  her  and  my 
good  friend  Farrar,  where  I  found  a  most  cordial  and 
warm  reception.  I  renewed  my  journey  about  three 
o'clock,  and  reached  home  at  seven  with  perfect  con- 
venience and  satisfaction. 

"What  joy  would  it  give  my  heart  to  look  in  up- 
on you  with  a  good  morning!  The  sound  still  dwells 
most  sweetly  and  most  tenderly  on  my  thoughts. 
You  are  'in  my  mind's  eye'  at  this  moment,  lovely 
and  cheering  as  when,  with  '  sweet  sorrow,'  we  ex- 
changed it  at  this  hour,  yesterday  morning.  O  my 
Mary,  with  what  emotions  does  my  heart  anticipate 
the  time  when  these  'outward  eyes'  shall  daily  be- 
hold in  delightful  vision  the  lovely  object,  so  inesti- 
mably dear  and  precious  to  me !  May  Heaven,  in  its 

[283] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE          [WOT 

goodness,  speed  this  time !  May  you  be  blessed  with 
health  and  every  favour  to  make  you  happy.  And 
may  our  hearts  ever  be  as  united  in  love  and  grati- 
tude to  the  bountiful  Giver  of  all  good,  as  in  affec- 
tion to  each  other.  Write  me  often  as  much  as  your 
health  will  allow,  and  no  more — and  all  about  your 
dear  self.  Heaven  bless  you." 

From  my  mother: 

"Concord,  March  llth,  1807. 

"You  do  not  say,  'Make  yourself  your  subject,' 
without  sincerely  wishing  it ;  for  my  beloved  friend 
can  never  degrade  himself  or  his  Mary,  by  unmean- 
ing compliments.  I  need  not  say  you  were  constantly 
present  to  my  mind  all  the  day — that  I  turned  my  eye 
every  moment  to  the  window,  and  watched  the  in- 
crease and  decrease  of  the  storm  with  a  heart  re- 
sponding to  every  variation.  The  unpleasant  weather 
had  yesterday  a  little  effect  on  my  lungs.  I  could  not 
have  bid  you  good-morning  in  an  audible  voice,  but 
to-day  I  am  quite  well. 

"  I  am  warned  to  close  by  significant  glances,  nods, 
and,  where  these  fail,  by  friendly  hints  that  'the  mail 
is  closing,'  etc." 

Again  she  writes: 

"Concord,  March  12th,  1807. 
"  It  is  a  most  perplexing  mystery  to  our  good  and 
faithful  Betty,  that  Mr.  White  and  Mrs.  Schalk- 

[284] 


1807]  ENGAGEMENT 

wyck  should  have  so  much  to  say.  *  What  can  they 
find  to  occupy  so  much  time  ?  I  'm  sure  they  must 
repeat  the  same  things  again  and  again.'  Unless  the 
heart  of  the  postmaster  should  instruct  him,  I  think 
the  mystery  must  appear  to  him  no  less  dark.  But 
in  truth,  I  have  now  important  intelligence  to  com- 
municate. Yesterday,  I  dismissed  my  sick  robe,  and, 
my  cap  excepted,  clad  myself  in  the  attire  of  health. 
I  wished  to  have  written  this  from  the  sitting-room, 
but  Mamma  objected  to  the  morning  as  too  cold  and 
windy  for  a  first  essay.  And,  really,  I  have  no  very 
strong  inclination  to  make  the  first  floor  my  stated 
place  of  residence,  till  after  Court.  Company  neces- 
sarily produces  exertion,  and  the  society  of  friendly 
acquaintance  is  far  worse  than  any  other.  There  is 
not  sufficient  affection  to  render  silence  supportable 
to  them,  and  there  is  not  enough  indifference  to  their 
opinions  and  feelings  to  render  it  easily  practicable. 
'He  who,  silent,  loves  to  be  with  us,  he  wno  loves 
us  in  our  silence,  has  touched  one  of  the  keys  that 
ravish  hearts.'  If  Lavater  had  never  written  anything 
more  visionary,  he  might  have  passed  for  a  sage  of 
the  first  order.  But  this  delightful  silence,  which  alone 
conveys  the  best  feelings  of  the  soul,  is  too  sacred  to 
be  profaned  by  vulgar  use. 

"  My  dearest  friend,  I  have  not  written  very  long, 
but  the  girls  think  quite  long  enough.  Adieu,  then, 
Most  affectionately, 

MARY." 

From  my  mother: 

[285] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [WOT 

"Concord,  March  13th,  1807. 
"I  know  my  dearest  friend  would  not  have  dis- 
appointed me  this  morning,  had  not  necessity  com- 
pelled him  to  it.  He  knows  the  anxieties  of  an  affec- 
tion ever  solicitous  for  the  health  and  happiness  of 
its  object.  By  reposing  on  the  perfections  of  Deity, 
I  endeavour  to  resign  myself  to  all  possible  events, 
but  there  are  sorrows  from  which  my  soul  recoils,  and 
which,  I  feel,  nothing  but  divine  grace  can  enable  me 
to  sustain." 

From  my  father: 

"Newbury  Port,  March  13th,  1807. 
"My  dear  Mary's  letter  reached  me  yesterday,  and 
greatly  delighted  my  heart,  as  her  letters  cannot  fail 
to  do.  This  morning's  mail  I  fully  intended  should 
carry  you  a  few  lines,  but  a  severe  head-ache  caused 
by  a  slight  cold  and  unusual  fatigue,  kept  me  in  du- 
ress until  it  was  too  late.  For  several  days,  I  have 
been  obliged  to  confine  myself  in  a  close  room  at  an 
arbitration  with  such  a  clan  of  the  *  sovereign  people," 
that  I  could  scarcely  breathe  with  any  pleasure  to 
myself.  Last  evening  I  was  released,  and  to-day  I 
choose  to  confine  myself  at  home,  not  doubting  but 
a  little  penance  at  water-gruel  will  restore  me." 

From  my  mother: 

"Concord,  March  16th,  1807. 
"Your  letter  of  this  morning,  dearest  friend,  re- 
lieved me  from  the  most  painful  apprehensions, 

[286] 


1807]  ENGAGEMENT 

though  it  informed  me  of  your  indisposition.  You 
must  bear  with  me,  when  I  am  thus  unreasonable; 
were  my  heart  less  interested,  I  could  more  calmly 
see  the  expected  post  arrive  without  a  letter.  Your 
health  is  certainly  delicate,  and  requires  constant  at- 
tention. Pay  that  attention,  I  entreat  you,  for  your 
Mary's  sake,  whose  happiness  is  most  intimately  con- 
nected with  it.  You  say  colds  are  the  only  illness  to 
which  you  are  subject.  Dr.  Ratcliffe  used  to  say  to 
his  patients,  when  they  told  him  they  had  only  a 
cold — 'What,  in  the  name  of  conscience,  would  you 
have?' — considering  them  the  foundation  of  every 
other  disorder." 

How  often  I  have  heard  my  father  attribute  my 
mother's  early  death  to  the  ignorance  that  then  pre- 
vailed, even  among  the  medical  faculty,  with  regard 
to  the  laws  of  health.  It  is  evident  that,  from  this  or 
some  other  cause,  his  health  was  at  this  time  inter- 
rupted almost  as  frequently  as  her  own. 

From  my  father: 

"Newbury  Port,  March  17th,  1807. 
"  My  imagination  has  been  feasting  itself  in  view- 
ing my  beloved  in  her  'attire  of  health,'  and  Queen 
Esther  in  all  her  'royal  apparel'  appeared  not  half  so 
lovely." 

Again : 

"Newbury  Port,  March  18th,  1807. 
"I  think  you  cannot  make  the  sitting-room  at 
present,  your  place  of  stated  residence,  without  be- 

[287] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

ing  insensibly  led  to  make  exertions  which  may  re- 
tard your  progress  to  perfect  health,  which,  surely, 
nothing  you  could  do  in  the  way  of  politeness  and 
civility  would  atone  for.  Silence,  as  you  most  justly 
observe,  cannot  be  resorted  to  for  relief  in  the  com- 
pany of  such  friends  as  you  would  be  exposed  to ; 
and,  if  it  could,  I  should  think  that  sort  of  silence 
which  in  your  presence  could  alone  be  sustained, 
too  sacred,  not  only  for  vulgar,  but  for  any  general 
use.  I  could  not  feel  willing  to  have  any,  even  of 
your  friends,  participate  with  me  in  the  exquisite 
pleasures  of  social  silence,  which  are,  peculiarly,  the 
heart's,  and  which  a  stranger  intermeddleth  not  with. 
Lavater's  maxim  shows  he  had  a  heart  as  well  as 
head,  and  would  alone  rank  him  among  first-rate 
sages  in^the  science  of  human  nature." 

From  my  mother: 

"Concord,  March  19th,  1807. 

"Dearest  friend,  a  serious  lecture  by  good  Mr. 
Ripley,  approbated  by  Papa,  restrains  me  to  one 
page.  Most  affectionately  I  thank  you  for  the  kind 
pages  by  which  my  heart  has  been  daily  cheered  this 
week.  I  will  not  dispute  the  point  of  obligation  with 
you  at  this  time,  and  at  no  time  may  a  point  less  en- 
dearing be  contested  by  us. 

"My  Parents  think  I  gain  strength  and  health  as 
fast  as  I  ought  to  expect.  Do  not,  however,  come 
with  an  idea  that  I  am  perfectly  well.  The  truth  is, 
my  lungs  are  still  very  much  debilitated.  Papa  is 

[288] 


1807]  ENGAGEMENT 

very  unwell, — we  fear  a  lung-fever.  Much  love  to 
our  excellent  Mary,  affectionate  sympathy  to  Mrs. 
and  Miss  Bromfield,  and  for  yourself  everything 
your  heart  can  ask  from  your  MARY." 

From  my  father: 

"Newbury  Port,  March  20th,  1807. 
"  Notwithstanding  all  I  have  said,  and  intimated, 
to  my  beloved  Mary  about  writing,  and  its  injurious 
effects  to  herself,  which  I  confess  almost  amounts 
to  a  prohibition  to  write  at  all,  yet  I  cannot  possibly 
be  disappointed  of  a  letter,  when  I  only  hope,  and 
have  no  particular  reason  to  expect  one,  as  was  the 
case  yesterday,  without  feeling  my  heart  sink  with- 
in me,  as  if  a  blow  of  sudden  misfortune  came  upon 
me ;  and  it  takes  some  time  and  many  efforts  to  raise 
it,  and  rightly  restore  all  its  circulations.  You  will 
think  me  inconsistent  or  capricious,  but  I  hope  I 
shall  be  neither ;  or  may  suppose  that  I  wish  to  en- 
joy all  the  happiness  your  letters  give,  and,  should  any 
evil  accrue  to  you,  on  you  to  leave  all  the  responsibil- 
ity, but  this,  I  am  sure,  is  not  in  my  thoughts.  My 
dear  Mary's  candour  and  affection  will,  I  hope,  ever 
take  away  all  difficulty  in  interpreting  the  feelings 
and  wishes  of  my  heart.  Frankly,  my  dearest  love, 
I  must  say,  you  cannot  omit  writing  to  me  without 
exposing  my  heart  to  much  suffering;  yet  I  must, 
in  reason,  add  that  I  would  rather  encounter  this 
suffering  than  your  health  should  suffer  any  incon- 
venience." 

[289] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [WOT 

From  my  father: 

"Newbury  Port,  March  21st,  1807. 
"One  sentence  only  of  my  beloved  Mary's  '  page' 
would  have  charmed  my  heart.  I  care  not  how  much 
her  kind  friends  restrain  her,  when  her  health  requires 
it,  sure  I  am  she  cannot  be  so  restrained  as  to  fail  of 
delighting  me,  if  she  takes  her  pen  at  all." 

My  mother  to  my  father: 

"Concord,  March  21st,  1807. 
"I  have  only  ten  minutes  to  say  all  my  heart 
would  dictate  to  my  best  beloved  friend, — and  what 
time  would  suffice  for  that  purpose  ?  You  know  some- 
thing of  your  Mary,  and  may  judge  if  she  would,  or 
would  not,  submit  to  any  mere  inconvenience,  rather 
than  subject  her  most  cherished  friend  to  pain.  Alas! 
to  how  much  pain  and  anxiety  have  I  already  sub- 
jected you ! — when  my  most  fervent  wish  and  prayer 
has  been  to  be  only  the  source  of  happiness  to  you." 

Again : 

"Concord,  March  23rd. 

"Monday  morning.  Harriet  entered  my  chamber 
this  morning  with  a  kiss,  and '  Cousin,  did  you  hear  the 
stage  pass  ? ' '  Yes. '  'And  do  you  expect  a  letter  ? ' '  Not 
much.'  She  drew  from  her  bosom  your  precious  let- 
ter, the  most  welcome  visitant  I  could  possibly  have 
received,  the  writer  excepted.  Beloved  friend,  for  your 
attention  to  yourself,  I  thank  you  a  thousand  times. 
Be  not  anxious,  but  fail  not  to  implore  of  Him  who 

[290] 


1807]  ENGAGEMENT 

healeth,  the  exercise  of  His  power, — if  it  consist  with 
His  will,  and  our  ultimate  happiness.  For  I  confess 
I  desire  not  life — to  be  less  than  a  blessing  to  my 
heart's  dearest  friend ;  and  He  who  knoweth  all  things, 
to  whom  the  future  is  present,  alone  knows  if  I  should 
prove  such." 

My  father  in  reply: 

"Newbury  Port,  March  27th,  1807. 
"I  have  almost  thirty  minutes  this  morning  to 
write  to  my  dearest  Mary,  and  could  I  say  as  much 
to  charm  her  heart  as  she  did  mine  in  ten,  I  should 
feel  perfectly  happy.  How  can  my  dearest  love 
speak  of  subjecting  me  to  'pain  and  anxiety,'  which 
she  must  know  I  experience  only  so  far  as  it  is  in- 
separable from  the  affection  which  is,  indeed,  the 
source  of  all  that  my  heart  deigns  to  call  happiness 
here  below.  You  are  therefore  just  what  your  prayer 
has  been, — 'only  the  source  of  happiness  to  me.'  You 
have  taught  me  what  happiness  is,  you  have  inspired 
my  heart  with  feelings  which  a  whole  life  of  pain 
would  not  counterbalance.  I  cannot  express  by 
words,  nor  even  by  actions,  the  pure  love  and  ten- 
derness which  fill,  and  constitute  the  happiness  of 
my  heart.  Oh,  could  I  but  daily  and  hourly  enjoy 
your  sweet  society,  and  bestow  my  exertions  in  im- 
proving your  health,  and  promoting  your  happiness, 
what  a  constant  cause  of  gratitude  to  Heaven  should 
I  have!" 

[291] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [1907 

Again : 

"Newbury  Port,  March  28th,  1807. 

"  From  what  I  have  written  to  you  about  our  dear 
Mrs.  Farnham,  you  will  not  be  surprised  to  learn 
that  she  continued  through  the  day,  yesterday,  tran- 
quil and  easy,  resigned  and  happy,  and  in  the  eve- 
ning, breathed  her  last,  in  perfect  composure,  and 
free  from  pain  and  distress." 

Again : 

"Ipswich,  March  31st,  1807. 

"Though  I  have  made  a  public  and  most  solemn 
profession  of  my  faith,  and  dedication  of  myself  to 
God,  yet  I  feel  full  of  imperfections,  and  liable  con- 
tinually to  deviate  from  the  standard  of  elevated  love, 
devotion,  and  purity  which  the  Gospel  enjoins.  Oh, 
may  my  sincerity  make  my  heart  an  offering  accept- 
able to  a  holy  and  merciful  God ;  and  may  my  life 
prove  such  as  I  now  humbly  hope  and  resolve  to 
render  it !  Then,  dearest  love,  we  shall  be  happy  here, 
and  supremely  blest  forever  in  the  presence  of  our 
Heavenly  Father." 

The  following  is  her  reply: 

"Concord,  April  1st,  1807. 

"  Could  I  give  language  to  the  feelings  your  letter 
of  this  morning  inspired,  you  would  receive  pages 
more  expressive  of  the  tenderness  which  fills  your 
Mary's  heart,  than  you  ever  have  done.  Dearest  of 
human  beings,  you  have  a  new  claim  on  my  tender- 

[292] 


1807]  ENGAGEMENT 

ness,  my  esteem,  and  confidence.  Most  gladly,  most 
affectionately,  does  my  heart  acknowledge  it.  And 
the  Almighty  Parent  to  whom  you  are  devoted,  the 
God  with  whom  you  have  entered  into  covenant, 
will  most  surely  direct,  preserve,  and  bless  you. 
Eternal  Truth  is  pledged,  and  *the  mountains  shall 
depart,  and  the  hills  be  removed'  ere  you  shall  be  for- 
saken by  Him,  who  is  'Omnipotent  to  bless.'  May 
He,  in  His  infinite  goodness,  grant  that  we  may  be 
permitted  to  tread  the  path  of  life  together ;  that  we 
may  mutually  encourage,  strengthen,  and  console 
each  other;  and,  when  His  will  shall  terminate  our 
present  state  of  existence,  may  He  decree  that  we 

'Together  sink  in  social  sleep, 
Together,  freed,  our  happy  spirits  fly 
To  realms  where  love  and  bliss  immortal  reign.'" 

From  my  father: 

"Ipswich,  April  3rd,  1807. 

"  You  cannot  easily  conceive  what  delight  my  heart 
enjoys  from  the  contemplation  of  my  dear  Mary,  even 
amid  the  jargon  and  litigation  of  the  bar.  It  is  indeed, 
if  possible,  more  inexpressibly  delightful  from  this 
very  contrast.  To  turn  from  scenes  of  human  deprav- 
ity to  view  and  contemplate  all  that  is  lovely  and 
endearing  in  human  nature,  to  retire  from  the  agita- 
tion of  noisy  and  angry  passions,  to  indulge  the  pure 
and  sweet  sensations  of  love  and  joy — Oh,  my  Mary, 
this  is  pleasure  I  cannot  describe,  but  do  this  mo- 
ment richly  enjoy.  How  blest  am  I  to  possess  such 

[293] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [WOT 

a  friend!  I  fear  you  will  think  I  almost  ought  to 
apologize  for  filling  my  pages  in  this  way.  I  know  my 
Mary  is  not  desirous  of  it,  but  I  really  have  not  time 
to  say  anything  but  what  the  moment  pours  forth. 
I  must  now  return  to  all  the  aforesaid  jargon,  litiga- 
tion, etc.,  but  hope  to  quit  them  entirely,  and  reach 
home  in  course  of  to-day." 

From  my  father: 

"Newbury  Port,  April  4th. 

"Most  devoutly  do  I  sympathize  and  concur  with 
you  in  your  prayers  that  we  may  be  kindly  preserved 
to '  encourage,  strengthen,  and  console  each  other,' 
and  be  made  mutual  and  everlasting  blessings.  I  feel 
most  sensibly  how  much  I  shall  need  your  gentle 
guidance,  your  mild  corrections,  your  stimulating 
influence  in  treading  with  you  the  path  of  life ;  and 
becoming  prepared  with  you,  and  like  you,  for '  realms 
where  love  and  bliss  immortal  reign.'  My  hope  rests 
in  what  I  trust  is  the  sincerity  of  my  heart,  and  in 
the  goodness  of  the  Father  of  lights  and  God  of  love. 

"The  minute  has  come  for  me  to  close.  Before  I 
see  you  next  week,  I  hope  to  have  decided  as  to  a 
house.  This  I  find  more  difficult  than  I  expected; 
something  or  other  very  material  is  wanting  in  almost 
every  situation  I  have  viewed." 

From  my  mother: 

"Concord,  April  9th,  1807. 

"You  mentioned  your  intention  to  decide  respect- 
ing a  house  ere  we  met.  In  fixing,  you  will  recollect 

[294] 


1807]  ENGAGEMENT 

that  closets  are  very  convenient,  though  not  abso- 
lutely indispensable ;  a  painted  kitchen  floor  is  much 
preferable  to  one  unpainted, — when  washed,  it  is 
soon  dry, — this,  however,  is  not  very  important;  but 
a  good  well,  and  accommodations  for  wood,  may  be 
considered. 

"This  is  an  unusual  exercise  for  Fast  Day;  I  hope 
not  a  transgression  of  duty." 

From  my  father : 

"Newbury  Port,  April  10th,  1807. 
"  I  hope  to  find  you  have  taken  the  softened  air 
with  advantage  and  pleasure.  Indeed,  it  has  almost 
been  my  hope  that,  should  this  delightful  weather 
be  indulged  us  next  week,  you  might  be  able  to  ride 
with  me  to  Charlestown.  I  cannot  remove  from 
my  mind  an  inexpressible  solicitude  till  Heaven  has 
blessed  me  with  the  most  exquisite  and  exalted  hap- 
piness I  can  conceive  of  in  this  life.  The  perfect  re- 
establishment  of  your  health  is,  I  am  induced  to  be- 
lieve, as  all  your  friends  do,  connected  with  this  my 
happiness.  They  all  assure  me  the  air  of  Concord  is 
not  propitious  to  you  as  would  be  that  of  this  place. 
And,  at  length,  I  have  engaged  the  southwesterly 
half  of  a  very  well-built  new  house,  in  a  fine  situa- 
tion for  enjoying  the  gentle  and  health-inspiring 
breezes  of  this  season,  with  the  mild  and  cheering 
rays  of  the  sun.  I  cannot  but  think  your  health  would 
improve  better  in  such  a  situation  than  where  you 
are,  and  cannot  but  hope  your  happiness  would  not 

[295] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [WOT 

be  diminished.  Any  personal  inconvenience  or  delay 
I  am  sure  I  would  cheerfully  submit  to,  that  you 
might  take  the  time  most  agreeable  to  yourself,  but 
should  that  time  very  soon  arrive,  how  greatly  re- 
lieved, and  how  unspeakably  happy,  should  I  be." 

After  a  visit  from  my  father,  my  mother  writes 
as  follows: 

"Concord,  April  15th,  1807. 

"'Surely  the  light  is  sweet,  and  it  is  a  pleasant 
thing  to  behold  the  sun.'  But  never  do  his  rays  so 
gladden  the  heart  as  when  the  dear  idea  of  a  beloved 
object  is  blended  with  them.  On  opening  my  eyes 
on  this  fine  morning,  gratitude  to  the  Giver  of  all 
good,  united  with  and  increased  by  the  tender  rec- 
ollection of  my  friend,  filled  my  heart.  Emotions 
the  most  delightful  were,  however,  blended  with  a 
sense  of  my  own  un worthiness, — and  'what  shall  I 
render  for  all  these  mercies,'  was  the  involuntary 
language  of  my  soul.  Oh,  may  I  never  lose  the  Giver 
in  His  gifts !  Singularly  blest  as  I  am,  may  my  grat- 
itude and  devotion  be  proportionably  ardent  and  ac- 
tive! To  you,  dearest  and  best,  I  write  and  speak 
the  first  thoughts  and  feelings  which  arise:  to  each 
other,  we  can  never  be  egotists, — we  can,  at  least, 
never  disgust  by  egotism. 

"How  much  I  feel  your  absence!  I  busy  myself 
with  imagining  your  occupations,  your  pleasures, 
your  companions,  the  subjects  of  conversation,  your 
tone  of  voice,  and  expression  of  countenance,  but  this 

[296] 


1807]  ENGAGEMENT 

does  not  equal  reality ;  and,  to  say  truth,  I  had  rather 
hear  and  see  you  one  hour,  than  spend  a  fortnight 
in  imagining  how  you  might  look,  and  what  you 
might  say. 

"My  chamber  grows  rather  cool, — you  will  not, 
therefore,  regret  an  early  adieu.  Generous,  tender, 
best  beloved  friend,  you  know  that  you  possess  the 
heart  of  your  MARY." 

To  Ann  Bromfield: 

"Concord,  April  16th,  1807. 

"My  ever  dear  Ann  requires  no  written  assurance 
of  my  tenderest  sympathy,  she  knows  how  sincerely 
I  have  participated  her  sorrows.  Dear  Ann,  I  have 
felt — have  felt!  can  the  bosom  ever  forget  to  feel, — 
the  poignancy  of  the  pang  inflicted  by  the  sudden 
departure  of  an  object  idolized  from  infancy !  And 
I  know  the  afflicted  can  receive  consolation  from  no 
other  source  than  the  immutable  perfections  of  Deity. 
Those  perfections  are  all  engaged  to  promote  the 
ultimate  happiness  of  His  children,  and  not  one  of 
them  can  be  lost. 

"  My  heart  would  long  commune  with  yours,  but 
a  more  than  usual  pain  in  the  side  warns  me  to 
close." 

From  my  father: 

"Newbury  Port,  April  17th,  1807. 
"Dearest  love,  I  had  not  thought  it  possible  I 
could  realize  in  your  absence  such  exquisite  happi- 

[297] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

ness,  as  your  letter  gave  me  yesterday.  Never  is  my 
heart  more  softened  in  tenderness  and  love,  than 
when  I  have  journeyed  home  with  the  dear  image 
of  my  Mary,  after  enjoying  the  sweet  charms  of  her 
society  and  affection.  How  I  thank  you  for  your 
most  noble,  generous,  frank,  and  tender  affection! 
How  does  my  heart  ascend  in  pure  and  ardent  grati- 
tude to  the  Father  of  mercies,  the  ever  beneficent 
God  of  light  and  love,  'whom  we  both  adore!' 

"The  chairs  we  spoke  of  are  already  painted,  but, 
instead  of  dark,  as  I  mentioned,  what  they  call  bam- 
boo colour  was  thought  best  for  us.  If  you  prefer  the 
dark  coloured,  just  say  so  in  your  letter  to-morrow. 
Would  you  like  a  little  settee  with  them,  for  the  sit- 
ting-room ?  Such  an  one,  and  very  pretty,  may  be  had. 
The  white  chairs  for  the  best  chamber  are  ready,  with 
the  rest,  to  be  taken  to  the  house  to-day." 

My  mother's  reply: 

"Concord,  April  18th,  1807. 

"I  have  been  engaged  with  company  till  it  is  al- 
most time  to  send  my  letter  to  the  post-office.  How 
much  rather,  dearest  and  best  beloved  friend,  should 
I  have  passed  the  morning  in  the  only  kind  of  con- 
versation now  permitted  me  to  enjoy  with  you. 

"Yesterday,  I  rode  four  miles  with  our  friend 
Sarah,  without  fatigue.  I  think,  should  it  be  conve- 
nient for  you  to  be  here  on  Monday  or  Tuesday,  I 
shall  probably  be  able  to  accompany  you  to  Charles- 
town  with  advantage  on  Wednesday. 

[298] 


1807]  ENGAGEMENT 

"The  chairs  you  mention  will,  I  am  sure,  please 
me.  As  the  sitting-room  is  small,  a  settee  would  be 
better  dispensed  with.  Have  the  goodness  to  take 
the  size  of  the  windows,  that  curtains  may  be  fitted 
to  the  chambers.  Also,  to  inquire  if  mirrors  can  be 
procured  reasonably  at  Newburyport.  The  risk  in 
transporting  them  would  be  considerable. 

"My  heart  breathes  ten  thousand  affectionate 
wishes  for  your  felicity.  Let  me  rather  say,  for  ours, 
— for  there  can  be  no  separate  happiness  or  misery 
with  my  dearest  friend  or  his  MARY." 

From  my  father: 

"Newbury  Port,  April  18th,  1807. 

"I  have  nearly  a  half  hour  this  morning,  before 
the  mail  closes,  which  I  cannot  turn  to  better  account 
than  by  conversing  with  my  beloved  Mary.  She  is 
now  the  object  of  my  tenderest  cares  and  solicitudes, 
as  well  as  the  source  of  my  sweetest  joys,  and  why 
should  I  not  yield  to  the  impulse  of  my  best  affec- 
tions, which  cling  to  her  dear  image  in  my  mind,  and 
constantly  direct  all  my  thoughts  to  her.  Every  morn- 
ing, after  reverencing  the  'ever  present,  ever  benefi- 
cent Being  whom  we  both  adore,'  I  should  wish  to 
dedicate  my  first  sentiments  and  feelings  to  the  best 
and  dearest  friend  of  my  heart,  to  my  ever  lovely  and 
beloved  Mary. 

"  We  can  ever  converse  together  without  reserve 
or  restraint,  and  give  to  each  other  our  first  thoughts, 
as  they  arise,  for  we  know  each  other's  hearts,  and 

[299] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [ISOT 

that  the  dearest  happiness  of  each  consists  in  giving 
happiness  to  the  other.  Certainly,  the  most  exquisite 
joy  of  my  heart  arises  from  its  power  of  giving  joy 
to  yours,  and  feeling  itself  the  object,  and  in  some  de- 
gree worthy,  of  your  affection.  Indeed,  here  is  all  my 
earthly  happiness, — nothing  else  merits  the  name. 
I  cannot  cease  to  feel  that  I  am  most  highly  blest, 
or  to  express  my  feelings  to  you.  They  are  the  feel- 
ings which  are  ever  first  in  my  heart,  and  therefore 
must  be  expressed  to  you.  And,  I  trust,  dearest  love, 
we  are  both  of  us  infinitely  above  the  necessity  of 
disguise,  or  even  of  what  is  called  policy." 

My  mother,  a  few  days  later,  went  to  Charlestown, 
from  which  the  following  letter  is  dated : 

"April  27th,  Monday  morning. 
"Notwithstanding  the  remarkably  unpleasant 
weather,  your  Mary  continues  as  well  as  when  she 
parted  with  the  friend  who  is  all  the  world  to  her. 
To  say  any  object  is  capable  of  bestowing  complete 
pleasure  in  your  absence  would  be  an  untruth.  I  do 
indeed  feel  from  home,  without  the  kind,  sustaining 
arm  of  affection,  without  the  soothing  voice  of  sym- 
pathy, or  the  eye  beaming  tenderness  and  truth.  But, 
if  I  can  know  you  are  in  health,  and  depend  on  the 
happiness  of  seeing  you  in  the  course  of  a  few  days, 
I  shall  be  content,  and,  I  hope,  grateful.  We  are  go- 
ing to  be  very  notable  this  week.  Don't  apprehend 
anything  however  from  my  industry, — I  am,  and 

[300] 


1807]  ENGAGEMENT 

shall  be,  very  prudent.  Adieu,  dearest  and  best  of 
friends. 

"With  unalterable  fidelity  and  tenderness,  your 

MARY." 

From  my  father: 

"Ipswich,  April  29th,  1807. 

"I  cannot  deny  myself  the  pleasure  of  retiring  a 
few  moments  to  converse  with  my  beloved  Mary 
this  morning,  before  I  shall  be  debarred  the  privilege. 
We  must  soon  have  good  weather,  when  you  may 
freely  receive  and  enjoy  the  smiles  of  blooming  na- 
ture as  well  as  of  your  friends.  These  smiles  of  nature, 
I  delight  to  behold.  But  one  smile  from  my  Mary 
more  penetrates  and  charms  my  heart,  than  all  that 
nature  ever  gave  or  can  give. 

"It  will  give  you  pleasure  to  learn  that  I  am  at 
Swasey's,  very  commodiously  and  agreeably  situated 
with  a  number  of  choice  companions,  superintended 
by  the  Judge." 

Again : 

"Ipswich,  May  1st,  1807. 

"  Agreeably  as  I  am  situated  here,  I  cannot  feel  at 
home,  nor  enjoy  any  of  its  genuine  pleasures,  for 
these  are  pleasures  of  the  heart,  and  cannot  be  found 
where  the  heart  is  not.  Nothing,  therefore,  but  the 
dear  society  of  my  Mary  can  be  home  to  me.  I  hope 
I  shall  find  a  few  lines,  to-day,  from  you.  Not  a  word 
have  I  heard  since  your  dear  letter  of  Monday  morn- 
ing,— and  what  effect  this  damp  and  heavy  air  has 

[301] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [ISOT 

had  on  your  lungs  I  cannot  but  fear.  Don't  consider 
me,  dearest  love,  as  complaining  that  you  have  not 
written.  You  had  reason  to  expect  I  should  not  be 
here  so  long,  and  I  had  hopes  by  this  day  to  have 
visited  you.  I  cannot  now  do  it,  till  after  Monday, 
as  a  cause  is  assigned  for  that  day,  which  requires 
my  presence.  I  will,  however,  repress  anxiety,  and 
humbly  trust  in  the  goodness  of  that  Providence 
whereby  we  have  ever  been  preserved  and  blest." 

From  my  mother: 

"Charlestown,  May  3rd,  1807. 

"Many  months,  I  believe  I  may  say  years,  have 
elapsed  since  I  wrote  a  letter  on  the  Sabbath.  Yet, 
on  this  Sabbath,  so  interesting  to  your  feelings,  dear- 
est and  best  beloved  friend ;  this  Sabbath,  which,  like 
the  first,  presents  Nature  in  the  morning  of  beauty, 
and  on  which  the  Lord  of  Nature  invites  us  to  re- 
joice in  His  beneficence,  I  feel  not  that  I  can  greatly 
err  in  addressing  you.  Though  detained  from  public 
worship,  and  surrounded  by  friends,  I  have  not  failed 
to  derive  a  precious  joy  from  the  hope  that  my  best 
beloved  friend  was  enjoying  the  sacred  privilege  of 
communing  with  his  compassionate  Redeemer. 

"Your  heart  will  unite  with  mine  in  gratitude  to 
the  Being  who  has  so  far  restored  my  health.  If  life 
and  health  be  dear,  it  is  principally  owing  to  that 
attachment  which  has  bound  us  so  firmly  to  each 
other ;  and,  if  I  welcome  the  strength  and  ease  which 
evince  a  freedom  from  disease,  with  greater  rapture 

[302] 


ENGAGEMENT 

than  I  ever  yet  did,  it  is  because  I  love  rny  dearest 
friend  with  inexpressible  tenderness. 

"  My  kind  cousins  have  been  constantly  occupied 
with  our  concerns,  and  much  has  been  accomplished 
by  them  and  sister  Sally,  without  calling  forth  the 
smallest  exertion  of  my  powers. 

"  I  rejoice  in  your  pleasant  accommodations  at  Ips- 
wich. An  agreeable  home  is  universally,  and  justly, 
regarded  of  the  first  importance;  and  I  know  not 
why  a  temporary  home  should  not  be  considered  im- 
portant in  a  high  degree.  Of  our  short  life,  how  great 
a  part  is  passed  in  these  temporary  homes.  When, 
therefore,  I  can  know  you  happily  situated,  though 
but  for  a  week,  I  shall  experience  an  expansion  of 
heart  which  fervent  devotion,  or  genuine  affection, 
alone  can  create." 

After  receiving  a  visit  from  my  father  my  mother 
writes : 

"  Charlestown,  May  7th,  1807. 

"  Thursday  afternoon.  Never  did  the  rain  beat  more 
tempestuously,  never,  at  least,  in  the  opinion  of  your 
Mary,  than  during  the  two  hours  allotted  for  your 
ride  to  Salem.  How  you  supported  it,  what  are  your 
feelings,  and  what  the  state  of  your  health  to-day,  I 
am  yet  to  learn.  Oh,  may  you  continue  very,  very 
many  years  to  be  blest  with  the  health  you  have,  of 
late,  enjoyed  1  I  cannot  suppress  the  tender  anxiety 
which  constantly  agitates  my  heart  when  you  are 
absent ;  an  anxiety  certainly  unworthy  a  Christian ; 

[303] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [ion 

but  I  hope  that  He  who  created  the  human  heart 
susceptible  of  the  strong,  mysterious  attachment 
which  forms  of  two  beings  one,  will  pardon  what  is 
weak  and  erroneous  in  us  both.  And,  surely,  dearest 
friend,  we  shall  not  less  sincerely  adore,  or  endeavour 
to  imitate  Him,  for  the  affection  we  bear  each  other. 
That  affection  may  sometimes  render  us  insensible 
to  all  else;  but,  generally,  will  it  not  animate  devo- 
tion, and  shed  a  benign  influence  on  our  hearts  and 
lives  ? 

"You  know  my  whole  heart;  it  expands  with 
grateful  joy  to  Him  who  formed  you  what  you  are, 
with  nobleness  of  soul  to  bear  a  knowledge  of  your 
influence  over  the  heart  of  another,  and  with  tender- 
ness to  love  'as  the  world  loves  not!'" 

My  father,  on  reaching  Newburyport: 

"Newbury  Port,  May  8th,  1807.  • 
"  Here  I  am,  dearest  beloved,  in  good  health,  and 
happy.  I  reached  Salem  the  evening  I  parted  with 
you,  seasonably, — rode  to  Ipswich  yesterday  morn- 
ing before  breakfast,  attended  to  what  business  called 
me  there  and  arrived  at  this  place,  (I  can't  say  home,) 
last  evening,  without  having  suffered  from  the  vi- 
olence of  the  storm,  though  I  manfully  faced  it  all 
the  way.  To  be  sure,  I  had  not  a  very  gay  ride,  but 
it  was  by  no  means  an  unhappy  one.  The  winds  and 
rains  rushed  upon  me  rather  furiously,  but  the  ten- 
der, the  ever  precious,  recollection  of  the  dearest  and 
loveliest  of  friends  kept  alive  within  my  heart  a 

[304] 


1807]  ENGAGEMENT 

serene  and  sweet  joy.  And,  on  my  arrival  at  Ipswich, 
I  found  in  your  heavenly  letter  everything  to  elevate 
and  cheer  my  heart.  Hesitate  not,  dearest  love,  thus 
to  improve  your  time  on  the  Sabbath.  To  write  thus 
must  be  a  holy  exercise,  worthy  of  such  a  day,  and 
calculated  to  produce  in  the  heart  which  is  devoted 
to  you,  and  aspires  to  be  devoted  to  Heaven,  the 
heavenly  sentiments  and  feelings  that  exalt  your 
own. 

"During  the  interesting  Sabbath  you  mention, 
while  enjoying  'the  sacred  privilege  of  communing 
with  our  compassionate  Redeemer,'  I  thought  much 
of  you.  The  tenderest  recollections  of  my  best  and 
dearest  friend  could  not  fail  to  mingle  with  the  feel- 
ings which  the  affecting  occasion  inspired,  and  to 
give  my  heart  a  deep  impression  of  the  holy  and 
sublime  joy,  which  this  sacred  privilege  can  never 
fail  to  inspire  us  with,  in  the  presence  of  each  other. 
Heaven  grant  that  we  may  often  enjoy  together  this 
sacred  privilege  here,  and  enjoy  forever  hereafter  the 
blessedness  to  which  it  leads  and  tends  to  prepare 
our  hearts ! " 

My  mother  in  reply: 

"Charlestown,  May  9th,  1807. 
"How  joyfully  I  received  your  letter  from  the 
hand  of  cousin  Joseph  yesterday  afternoon,  I  need 
not  say.  Heaven  be  praised  you  escaped  injury  on 
the  tempestuous  evening,  when  I  fancied  everything 
terrible  would  assail  you!  Don't  pride  yourself  on 

[305] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [im 

superior  courage  and  fortitude.  Your  Mary,  too,  has 
met  real  evils  and  dangers,  and,  when  they  menaced 
herself  only,  she  has  not  shrunk  from  them ;  but  you 
know  exactly  when,  and  where,  and  to  what  degree, 
she  is  a  coward. 

"  I  am  well  pleased  the  coaster  cannot  be  here  till 
Thursday  or  Friday.  There  are  so  many  last  things 
to  think  of  and  to  do,  that  I  doubt  if  all  would  have 
been  in  readiness  had  it  come  early  in  the  week.  I 
have  been  writing  to  Concord  this  morning,  and  feel 
somewhat  fatigued.  Adieu,  therefore,  ever  dear,  ever 
precious  to  the  heart  of  your  affectionate 

MARY." 

From  my  father: 

"Newbury  Port,  May  9th,  1807. 
"  Your  charming  letter,  dearest  love,  rejoiced  my 
heart  last  evening.  It  was  a  new  thing  to  possess  such 
a  blessing  as  a  letter  of  my  best  friend  cannot  fail  to 
be,  on  the  very  day  it  came  from  her  hand.  Whether 
this  idea,  or  some  other  cause,  produced  the  effect, 
I  know  not,  but  my  heart  expanded  with  uncommon 
emotions  of  joy.  I  am  almost  as  unable  to  express 
the  feelings  your  letters  inspire,  as  I  ever  have  been 
the  sweet  magic  of  your  presence.  They  are  ines- 
timable treasures  to  my  heart,  and  my  tender  and 
best  beloved  Mary  will,  I  know,  bestow  them  upon 
me  as  freely  as  it  is  proper  she  should  make  the  ex- 
ertion. She  knows  that  nothing  has  such  power  to 
increase  the  ardour  of  my  affection,  as  the  manifes- 

[306] 


1807]  ENGAGEMENT 

tation  of  her  own.  Indeed,  I  could  not  love,  as  my 
Mary  knows  I  now  do,  had  not  this  manifestation 
been  so  frankly  made.  To  know  I  entirely  possess 
the  heart  I  adore,  perfects  the  happiness  I  feel — 
the  happiness  resulting  from  'that  strong  and  myste- 
rious attachment  which  forms  of  two  beings  one.' 
Without  such  knowledge  this  happiness,  the  only 
happiness  I  expect  on  earth,  must  be  imperfect.  Our 
affection,  I  firmly  trust,  will  ever  receive  the  approv- 
ing smiles  of  our  Heavenly  Father,  'who  is  love,  and 
dwelleth  in  love.'  If,  at  times,  this  affection  'renders 
us  insensible  to  all  else,'  He  will  pardon  the  excess 
of  it,  since  His  goodness  has  inspired  it,  and  since, 
generally,  it  will,  I  am  sure,  'animate  our  devotion, 
and  shed  a  benign  influence  over  our  hearts  and 
lives.'" 

From  my  father: 

"Newbury  Port,  May  llth,  1807. 
"My  anxiety,  constantly  alive  and  tender,  is 
alarmed  more  easily  than  is  rational  or  manly.  Im- 
agination, if  I  have  not  continual  assurances  of  your 
safety  and  health,  is  too  fond  of  acting  an  unfriendly 
part  with  my  feelings.  Such  apprehensions,  I  confess, 
ought  not  to  find  place  in  a  mind  resolved  to  trust  it- 
self and  all  its  dearest  interests  to  the  good  and  wise 
Providence  of  God.  But,  with  my  best  and  loveliest 
friend,  I  hope  to  be  forgiven  if  my  heart  is  too  ten- 
derly and  anxiously  devoted  to  one  whom  His  own 
goodness  has  formed  so  excellent  and  so  lovely.  I  feel 

[307] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [WOT 

that  it  can  never  be  possible  for  me  less  sincerely  to 
adore,  or  endeavour  to  imitate  Him,  for  the  affection 
which  devotes  me  to  such  a  heavenly  friend.  Let  us 
endeavour,  dearest  love,  to  repose  in  His  goodness 
with  entire  confidence. 

"Nothing,  I  hope,  will  occur  to  retard  the  time 
when  I  shall  be  entirely  blest.  Mr.  Toppan,  who  is  the 
most  careful  coaster,  and  has  a  new  sloop,  will  set 
out  on  Wednesday,  and  return  here  on  Saturday,  un- 
less unexpectedly  prevented,  and  can  take  anything 
we  wish  to  have  him  bring.  I  intend  coming  to  see 
you  on  Wednesday,  and  hope  to  be  able  to  attend  to 
every  command  of  my  dearest  love, — all  her  wishes 
are  commands.  The  stage  is  just  departing,  and  I 
must  bid  you  adieu,  leaving  to  your  own  heart  to 
understand  the  tender  and  constant  prayers  for  your 
health  and  happiness,  which  are  offered  up  by  the 
heart  of  your  affectionate  D.  A.  W." 

My  mother  in  reply: 

"Charlestown,  May  12th,  1807. 
"  What  would  have  induced  me  to  believe  I  should 
have  requested  my  beloved  friend  to  delay,  even  for 
an  hour,  an  intended  visit?  But  I  have  come  to  this. 
Be  not  alarmed,  however,  no  rival  has  supplanted 
you,  no  discovery  has  shaken  my  confidence  in  you, 
nothing  terrible  has  occurred.  The  truth  is, — I  am 
engaged  with  a  mantua-maker,  and,  unless  you  can 
remain  in  Charlestown  till  Friday,  I  must  request 
you  to  delay  your  visit  till  Thursday.  I  do  most  cor- 

[308] 


i8or]  ENGAGEMENT 

dially  wish  to  see  you, — that,  too,  is  another  truth, 
— and  no  mantua-maker  can  detain  any  portion  of 
my  heart,  nor  any  great  proportion  of  my  attention 
from  you. 

"  I  enclose  the  measure  of  the  cornice,  which  you 
will  have  the  goodness  to  direct  to  be  made  imme- 
diately, and  painted  white.  My  dear  friend,  can  you 
pardon  this  incoherent  scrawl?  Could  you  see  my 
situation,  I  know  you  would.  The  variety  of  voices 
sounding  in  my  ears,  the  variety  of  questions  asked, 
and  observations  made,  distract  my  attention,  but 
have  no  power  to  withdraw  my  heart  from  you. 

"Adieu,  and  remember,  if  you  can  be  absent  from 
Newbury  Port  till  Saturday,  I  entreat  you  to  be 
here  to-morrow ;  otherwise,  Thursday  will,  I  hope, 
bring  you  to  your  most  affectionate  MARY." 

From  my  father  to  my  mother,  addressed  to  Con- 
cord: 

"Newbury  Port,  May  19th,  1807. 

"After  enjoying  so  much  the  sweet  society  of  my 
dearest  and  loveliest  friend,  it  is  not  wonderful  if, 
to-day,  I  feel  in  unusual  solitude.  Human  beings  do 
indeed  surround  me  on  every  side,  but  in  vain  may 
I  look  for  the  charm  of  society,  without  my  Mary. 
Her  kind,  endearing  voice  and  smile,  warm  from 
the  purest  of  hearts,  impart  a  fulness  of  feeling  and 
felicity  which  all  the  world  would  not  purchase  from 
me,  or  for  me.  But  why  should  1  attempt  to  express 
what  I  have  so  often  found  inexpressible  ?  I  need  not 
do  it.  [  309  ] 


[1807 

"The  coaster  on  which  I  depended  has  not  yet 
gone  to  Boston.  He  still  says  he  shall,  if  possible,  go 
so  as  to  return  the  first  of  next  week.  I  have  written 
to  Jno.  Hurd,  to  send  the  things  by  the  coaster  now 
at  Boston,  if  he  can ;  if  he  does  not,  I  presume  we 
can  do  without  them  for  a  few  days.  I  hope  you  will 
not  find  it  necessary  to  make  a  postponement  of  the 
time  contemplated.  I  have  engaged  a  hack  to  come 
up  on  Saturday,  [May  23rd].  If  you  should  wish  to 
return  by  any  other  route  than  the  direct  one  through 
Andover,  be  so  good  as  to  mention  your  wishes.  We 
might  return  so  as  to  dine  with  some  of  your  friends, 
if  you  should  think  it  best" 

[310] 


CHAPTER  XI 

MAY-DECEMBER,  1807 

MARRIAGE  TO  DANIEL  APPLETON  WHITE,  LIFE  IN 
NEWBURYPORT 

IN'  the  Columbian  Centinel  of  Wednesday,  May 
27th,  1807,  we  find  the  following  notice:  "Mar- 
ried— In  Concord,  on  Sunday  evening  last,  by  the 
Revd.  Mr.  Ripley,  Daniel  White,  Esqr.  of  Newbury 
Port,  to  Mrs.  Mary  W.  Van  Schalkwyck,  of  the  for- 
mer place." 

We  cannot  but  wish  that  her  letters  from  her  new 
home  had  been  preserved  as  carefully  as  those  which 
were  written  from  the  West  Indies.  But  not  one 
have  we  of  the  many  she  must  have  written  to  her 
mother  from  Newburyport. 

As  it  is,  we  get  our  first  glimpse  of  her  through 
a  note  addressed  to  her  by  Miss  Bromfield,  the 
kind  "Cousin  Ann"  of  my  childhood.  One  of  the 
greatest  pleasures  to  which  my  mother  looked  for- 
ward in  Newburyport  was  the  companionship  of  Mrs. 
and  Miss  Bromfield.  These  friends  had  suffered  re- 
peated bereavements  during  the  winter  preceding 
my  mother's  marriage.  It  is  to  the  recent  loss  of  a 
beloved  brother  that  Miss  Bromfield  refers  in  the 
following  note,  which  we  may  suppose  was  written 
soon  after  my  mother's  arrival  in  Newburyport. 

[311] 


[1807 

"Monday  morning. 

"My  very  dear  Mary, — So  entirely  have  I  en- 
tered into  your  feelings,  that  the  sorrows  of  my  own 
heart  have  been  silent,  without  an  effort,  when  I  have 
seen,  or  even  thought  of  you ;  so  much  have  you  oc- 
cupied me  that  I  decided,  without  hesitation,  to  save 
you  what  I  could  of  the  awkwardness  of  sitting  up 
to  receive  company,  by  my  presence,  and  volubility 
of  course ;  but,  as  the  time  approaches,  my  foolish 
heart  misgives  me,  and,  as  Mr.  White  will  be  with 
you,  and  is  more  extensively  acquainted  with  the  in- 
habitants than  myself,  I  shall  decline  being  with  you. 
You  will  fully  enter  into  my  feelings  when  I  tell  you 
that,  until  I  visited  you,  I  have  not  voluntarily  seen 
any  one  for  the  last  three  months,  save  Mr.  White, 
and  Grandmother's1  family.  To  the  ladies  who  are 
with  you,  and  to  your  honoured  lord  and  master, 
present  us  suitably.  If  the  day  is  good  to-morrow, 
I  will  come  early  after  dinner,  and  escort  you  all  to 
our  little  parlour,  where  I  hope  you  will  consent  to 
pass  a  social  afternoon,  without  the  addition  of  any 
other  company." 

It  appears,  from  a  letter  addressed  to  my  mother 
by  her  cousin  Ruth,  that  the  day  to  which  Miss 
Bromfield's  note  relates  was  not  the  only  one  given 
by  my  mother  to  the  reception  of  her  friends.  She 
says:  "I  hear  the  good  people  of  Newbury  Port 

venerable  Madam  Atkins. 

[312] 


1807]  NEWBURYPORT 

availed  themselves  of  the  appropriated  days  to  mani- 
fest their  respect  and  civility." 

From  these  papers  it  is  seen  that  the  custom  in 
Newburyport  at  this  time  was  the  same  with  that 
of  Boston  twenty  years  before.  Mrs.  Ticknor,  in 
writing  of  her  mother,  the  beautiful  and  admired 
Mrs.  Eliot,  a  bride  in  1786,  says:  "At  that  time, 
as  in  many  succeeding  years,  newly  married  ladies 
'sat  up  for  company'  for  several  days.  These  visits 
were  not  returned  in  the  present  brief,  cool,  fashion, 
by  bits  of  pasteboard,  but  by  liberal  tributes  of  time, 
— a  half-hour  in  the  morning,  an  hour  in  the  after- 
noon, or  a  volunteered  tea-drinking,  according  to 
the  degree  of  intimacy  enjoyed  or  wished  for." 

Miss  Bromfield's  note  illustrates  the  informal  so- 
ciability of  1807,  and  we  may  suppose  that  my  mother 
received,  as  well  as  made,  many  visits  like  that  pro- 
posed to  her  by  Miss  Bromfield,  in  her  own  "little 
parlour."  Indeed,  we  are  not  obliged  to  draw  alto- 
gether on  our  imagination  for  this  picture.  Not  many 
days  since,  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  meet  one  who 
had  had  experience  of  my  mother's  hospitality, — a 
granddaughter  of  the  beloved  "Grandmother  At- 
kins" mentioned  in  Miss  Bromfield's  note.  I  had 
known  her  in  childhood  and  youth  as  "  Cousin  Susan 
Tyng."  From  the  number  of  people  unrelated  to  us 
whom  my  sister  and  I  were  bidden,  at  that  early  pe- 
riod, to  call  "Aunt,"  and  "  Cousin,"  I  think  it  must 
have  been  the  fashion  of  the  age  seventy  years  ago. 
Susan  Tyng  married,  late  in  life,  Mr.  Newton,  of 

[313] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [WOT 

Pittsfield.  She  is  now  a  widow,  more  than  fourscore 
years  of  age.  Half  a  century  had  elapsed  since  we 
met,  but  being  in  this  neighbourhood  for  a  few  days, 
she  sent  me  word,  by  a  mutual  friend,  that  she  should 
like  to  see  me,  adding  that  she  had  often  held  me 
on  her  knee.  She  was  a  charming  old  lady,  made  the 
more  so  to  me,  doubtless,  that  she  spoke  with  such 
enthusiasm  of  what  she  had  enjoyed,  when  a  girl, 
in  visiting  my  mother  in  Newburyport. 

"I  was  very  young,"  said  she,  "not  more  than  fif- 
teen; your  mother  used  to  ask  me,  and  the  young 
cousins  with  whom  I  stayed,  over  to  tea, — they  lived 
in  the  same  street,  right  opposite  her.  She  talked 
with  us  as  if  we  had  been  of  her  own  age.  We  thought 
we  were  in  Elysium  when  we  took  tea  with  her.  She 
was  beautiful,  you  know,  with  something  angelic 
about  her  appearance." 

Among  the  warmest  friends  made  by  my  father 
in  Newburyport,  before  his  marriage,  who  received 
my  mother  to  their  hearts  and  homes,  were  the  two 
families  of  "Grandmother  Atkins"  and  of  her  eldest 
daughter,  Mrs.  Searle.  Madam  Atkins  was  always 
called  "Grandmother"  by  my  father  and  mother, 
as  she  was  by  a  large  circle  of  friends,  and  the  un- 
married daughter,  who  lived  with  her,  was  almost 
as  widely  known  as  "Aunt  Becky."  My  sister  and 
I  received  our  first  impressions  of  the  beautiful  in 
nature  from  Aunt  Becky's  garden.  To  us  it  was  par- 
adise primeval,  and,  to  this  day,  it  lies  in  my  memory 
as  more  delightful  than  the  most  charming  gardens 

[314] 


1807]  NEWBURYPORT 

I  have  known  in  later  years.  Indeed,  as  was  said  by 
one  of  the  granddaughters,  "  both  house  and  garden 
seemed  the  centre  of  everything  qualified  to  delight 
or  improve."  Grandmother  Atkins  full  of  years,  and 
of  "that  which  should  accompany  old  age,"  died  be- 
fore I  was  old  enough  to  remember  her.  Aunt  Becky, 
however,  lived  to  bestow  upon  the  children  of  my 
mother  a  kindness  which  wiU  never  be  forgotten  by 
me.  Most  of  all,  however,  did  we  love  dear  Aunt 
Searle,  and  her  daughters.  They  took  in  the  mother- 
less children  after  my  mother's  death,  and  watched 
over  them  for  months  with  all  a  mother's  care.  One 
of  the  most  delightful  recollections  of  my  childhood 
is  that  of  sitting  on  a  footstool  at  Aunt  Searle's  feet, 
and  listening  to  the  stories  of  olden  time,  with  which 
it  was  her  wont  to  give  us  instruction  as  well  as 
amusement. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  devotion  of  her  daugh- 
ters to  my  mother.  They  were  the  cousins  with  whom 
Susan  Tyng  stayed  when  they  lived  opposite  my 
mother,  and  with  whom  she  shared  the  visits  upon 
which  she  looked  back  with  so  much  interest  in  her 
conversation  with  me.  Often  have  I  heard  from  their 
lips  enthusiastic  accounts  of  the  charm  my  mother 
had  for  them.  Especially  did  dear  Cousin  Fanny  en- 
dear herself  to  us  by  her  affection  for  my  mother, 
which  was  unbounded,  seeming  to  glow  as  warmly 
during  the  closing  hours  of  her  own  long  life  on  earth 
as  it  did  during  the  four  brief  years  of  their  intimate 
friendship. 

[315] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [iwn 

The  following  letter  was  written  by  her,  in  1818, 
to  the  little  daughter  who  was  only  six  months  old 
when  left  motherless.  It  was  written  on  her  eighth 
birthday,  and  gives  a  graphic  description  of  the 
mother  whose  memory  was  so  fondly  loved  by  the 
children  so  early  bereft,  as  well  as  by  her  friends. 

"Brookline,  December  12th,  1818. 
"Yes,  my  dear  Mary,  I  will,  with  pleasure,  write 
you  a  letter  on  the  anniversary  of  your  birth-day.  It 
was  a  very  interesting  day  to  me,  as  it  gave  to  your 
dear  parents  another  darling,  and,  I  might  hope,  to 
the  world  a  blessing,  in  the  little  being  who  was  to 
inherit  the  name,  and  perhaps  the  virtues,  of  a  most 
excellent  mother,  whom  I  dearly  loved.  I  wish  I  could 
distinctly  paint  to  you  one  who  came  so  near  perfec- 
tion. She  was  beautiful,  her  person  small  and  delicate, 
a  profusion  of  beautiful  dark  hair  adorned  her  head, 
her  eyes  were  blue  and  had  a  sweet  expression,  her 
teeth  were  white  and  regular,  her  smile  most  lovely, 
— but  of  this  beauty  she  seemed  unconscious;  her 
thoughts  were  not  given  to  her  own  charms  of  mind 
or  person,  but  to  the  merits  or  the  wants  of  others. 
Wherever  she  could  do  good  or  give  pleasure,  there 
were  her  thoughts  and  affections  occupied.  She  was 
ever  ready  to  sympathize  with  the  afflicted,  and  to 
rejoice  with  the  happy,  to  inform  the  ignorant,  or 
listen  to  the  wise.  Her  powers  of  mind,  and  infor- 
mation on  all  subjects  worthy  of  attention,  were  as 
uncommon  as  the  beauty  of  her  person,  and  a  modest 

[316] 


i8or]  NEWBURYPORT 

sweetness  gave  a  charm  to  everything  she  said  or  did. 
Her  natural  disposition  was  gay,  and  this  gaiety  of 
heart  survived  many  afflictions,  and  animated  the 
social  and  domestic  circle.  Her  piety  was  ardent  and 
sincere,  rational  and  enlightened.  She  was,  for  a 
time,  placed  among  a  people  destitute  of  religion ; 
this  shocked  her  feelings,  and  led  her  to  study  the 
subject  closely,  and  be  able  to  say  why  she  believed 
in  God  and  Christ.  My  dear  little  friend,  it  will  make 
you  sad  on  this  day  to  reflect  that  you  have  lost,  and 
could  not  have  known,  such  a  parent,  but  you  will 
make  a  good  use  of  the  day,  if  you  resolve  to  imi- 
tate the  excellences  you  hear  of  her  possessing.  It 
will  not  be  expected  of  you  to  be  as  beautiful,  but 
you  may  be  as  good,  and  as  much  beloved." 

Mrs.  Searle  was  left  a  widow  in  1796,  with  a  fam- 
ily of  two  sons  and  six  daughters. 

Our  next  record  is  from  the  pen  of  her  daughter 
Margaret,  afterwards  Mrs.  Curson.  She  grew  up  un- 
der the  roof,  and  in  the  garden,  of  her  Grandmother 
Atkins  and  her  Aunt  Becky,  herself  the  fairest  flower, 
whose  uncommon  loveliness  lasted  throughout  a  life- 
time of  more  than  fourscore  years  and  ten,  and  still 
lingers  in  the  fragrance  of  a  beautiful  memory.  The 
letter  now  before  us  is  addressed  to  her  cousin  Mary 
Eliot,  afterwards  Mrs.  Edmund  D wight.  It  bears 
evidence  of  having  been  written  in  the  year  1807, 
consequently  but  a  few  weeks  after  my  mother's 
marriage.  It  was  given  to  me  by  Mrs.  Dwight's 

[317] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [WOT 

daughter  Mary,  on  account  of  the  pleasant  picture 
it  contains  of  my  father,  at  this  bright  season  of  his 
happiness.  I  copy  other  portions  of  it  as  illustrating 
the  beloved  writer's  character  and  manner  of  life  in 
her  youth. 

"Monday  evening,  July  27th. 

"My  dear  Mary, — I  have  just  returned  from  a 
walk  to  our  favourite  glen,  where  I  believe  I  have  not 
been  before  since  last  summer,  when  you  and  Harriot 
Spence  were  with  me.  Our  names  still  remain  as  we 
left  them  on  the  birch  tree,  and  have  altered  less  than 
those  who  inscribed  them.  My  feelings  have  altered 
as  little,  I  believe,  as  either  of  the  three,  but  I  have 
felt  more  light  and  free  from  care  than  I  did  this 
evening.  Indeed,  I  hardly  think  I  was  right  to  leave 
Aunt  Becky  without  an  auxiliary,  but  these  little 
walks  gratify  Caty  and  Lucy  [her  elder  and  younger 
sister],  very  much,  and  I  always  fancy  that  a  beau- 
tiful prospect,  and  a  fresh  gale  from  the  river,  dissi- 
pate a  few  clouds  from  my  head,  though  I  always 
have  more  remaining  than  I  wish  for. 

"  The  weather  yesterday  and  to-day  has  been  very 
delightful  to  me.  I  had  time  yesterday  to  enjoy  it; 
I  spent  an  hour  or  two  yesterday  in  the  garden  in 
the  morning,  and  read  Thomson  with  much  pleasure. 
We  had  no  company  in  the  evening,  and  I  again  en- 
joyed the  garden,  and  sat  up  late,  reading  Beattie, 
without  feeling  that  I  did  wrong,  as  Grandmother 
wanted  some  attention.  I  don't  know  whether  you 
have  ever  read  this  life  of  Beattie.  We  admired  his 

[318] 


1807]  NEWBURYPORT 

*  Minstrel'  together,  and  I  think  you  would  feel  in- 
terested as  I  do,  in  anything  connected  with  its  au- 
thor. I  have  extracted  one  or  two  passages  which 
struck  my  fancy,  and  will  send  them  to  you. 

"I  was  delighted  with  White  this  afternoon, — 
where  is  there  such  another  man?  I  fear  I  *  ne'er 
shall  look  upon  his  like  again.'  He  was  riding  on 
horseback,  and  stopped  at  the  door  to  ask  how 
Grandmother  did  to-day.  I  asked  him  if  he  would 
not  come  in.  He  hesitated, — he  had  been  dining  with 
a  company  of  Salem  gentlemen  at  the  bridge,  and 
could  not  leave  them, — but  he  jumped  from  his  horse, 
and  said  he  would  just  go  into  the  garden,  and  get 
a  bouquet  for  Mrs.  White,  '  as  a  remembrance  from 
you,'  he  added.  I  ran  into  the  garden,  and  gathered 
as  good  a  collection  of  carnations  as  I  could,  some 
myrtle,  and  a  pea-blossom, — they  were  very  hand- 
some. He  said  something  of  my  taste  in  arranging 
them,  of  his  Mary's  fondness  for  such  things,  put 
them  in  his  bosom,  that  the  gentlemen  need  not 
think  he  was  a  'goose,'  and  rode  off  to  join  them.  I 
believe  there  never  was  any  human  being  more  per- 
fectly happy,  and  never  one  that  more  deserved  to 
be  so." 

Since  I  began  to  prepare  this  record  I  have  re- 
ceived many  gratifying  expressions  of  the  high  es- 
timation in  which  my  dear  father  was  held  by  all 
the  membersof  Mrs.  Searle's  family,  which  give  some 
idea  of  his  charm  as  a  companion  at  the  age  of  thirty, 

[319] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [lew 

when  he  first  met  my  mother,  and,  added  to  our  own 
recollections  of  him,  lead  us  to  the  conclusion  that 
his  presence  and  discourse  had  no  small  share  in  mak- 
ing his  home  in  Newburyport  the  "Elysium  "of  which 
Mrs.  Newton,  after  an  interval  of  more  than  three- 
score years  and  ten,  retains  so  delightful  a  memory. 
My  grandmother  writes : 

"Concord,  August  18th,  1807. 

"  I  ardently  long  to  see  you.  It  is  more  like  three 
years  than  three  months  since  you  left  us.  The  por- 
traits of  your  grandparents  and  Uncle  James  I  have 
taken  down  to  make  way  for  some  pictures  which 
Isaac  brought,  and  I  wish  I  could  convey  them  to 
you.  If  you  know  of  any  means,  I  will  endeavour  to 
secure  them  from  injury,  but  think  it  not  probable 
till  the  snow  falls. '  Tis  eleven  o'clock,  my  eyes  begin 
to  fail,  therefore  I  wish  you  peaceful  slumbers,  and 
retire  myself. 

"  *  The  morning  dawns,  and  heavily,  in  clouds,  rolls 
on  the  day,'  as  it  has  done  of  late.  The  very  great  rains 
impede,  and  almost  destroy,  the  labours  and  hopes 
of  the  husbandman.  Mr.  Ripley  says  it  is  in  judg- 
ment, and  calls  on  us  to  reform,  as  it  is  for  our  mani- 
fold transgressions." 

From  my  father,  written  while  he  was  attending 
court  in  Salem: 

"Salem,  Nov.  4th,  1807. 

"  I  have  a  few  moments  allowed  me  to  drop  a  few 
lines  to  my  dearest  wife.  We  have  a  very  interesting 

[320] 


1807]  NEWBURYPORT 

and  dignified  Court, — Parsons,  Sedgwick,  Sewall, 
and  Parker.  I  have  never  before  seen  the  Chief  Jus- 
tice on  the  bench.  He  is  a  wonderful  union  of  dig- 
nity and  pleasantry — full  of  the  oracles  of  law,  and 
the  charms  of  wit.  I  have  an  agreeable  time  here,  and 
am  in  good  health,  but  my  heart  knows  not  happi- 
ness in  the  absence  of  my  most  tenderly,  most  dearly 
loved  Mary.  How  much  I  experience  of  sweet  recol- 
lection, and  tender  solicitude,  I  need  not,  I  cannot 

M 
say. 

[321] 


F 


CHAPTER  XII 

1808 
NEWBURYPORT 

ROM  my  mother  to  Ruth  Hurd : 


"Newbury  Port,  Feb.  3rd,  1808. 
"  Mr.  White  is  indifferently  well.  The  vicissitudes 
of  heat  and  cold  have  somewhat  affected  his  health, 
— to  say  nothing  of  his  heavy  sighs  for  our  degraded, 
involved,  unhappy  country." 

In  the  following  letter  from  my  grandmother,  we 
see  that  her  political  views  were  in  sympathy  with 
my  father.  To  those  of  us  whose  inherited  prejudice 
against  Jefferson  has  yielded  to  the  attractive  pic- 
tures given  of  him  by  his  honoured  descendants,  the 
utter  despair  of  the  country  under  his  administration 
may  seem,  to  say  the  least,  excessive.  It  is  interest- 
ing, however,  as  showing  us  the  spirit  of  the  times. 

"Concord,  February  13th,  1808. 
"  In  the  zenith  of  political  perturbation,  I  assume 
the  pen  to  tell  you  what  is  going  forward  to  rouse 
the  feelings  of  every  rational  being.  Almost  four 
hundred  Democrats  have  passed  by  us,  preceded  by 
a  very  large  band  of  music,  to  the  Court-house,  where 
they  expect  to  judge  the  people.  What  will  be  the 
result  of  such  measures  we  cannot  tell,  but  may  eas- 

[322] 


1808]  NEWBURYPORT 

ily  conceive,  if  they  make  the  progress  in  this  county 
they  have  of  late.  I  may  not  live  to  see  the  devasta- 
tion, but  you,  my  dear  children,  are  my  greatest  anx- 
iety. Did  we  not  hope  for  the  protection  of  Divine 
Providence,  I  know  I  should  immediately  give  up 
all  ideas  of  better  times.  I  hope  the  measures  you 
have  adopted  will  excite  more  tranquil  sensations 
in  your  breast  than  mine  can,  at  present,  possess. 
You  will  say,  as  Sally  does,  '  Mamma  always  antic- 
ipates evil.'  If  it  is  an  error,  I  am,  this  moment, 
guilty,  for  I  can  not  see  any  good.  S.  Dana  was  more 
erect  than  ever  in  the  procession.  We  are  to  have 
twice  the  number  on  the  Fourth  of  March." 

The  first  child  of  my  father  and  mother,  a  daughter 
named  Mary  Elizabeth,  for  her  two  grandmothers, 
was  born  on  March  27,  1808. 

In  writing  to  Miss  Susan  Lowell,  my  mother  says, 
some  years  before  her  marriage  to  my  father: 

"  Among  the  fairest  portraits  of  felicity  sketched 
by  a  youthful  imagination,  that  of  a  parent  sur- 
rounded by  many  beings  attached  to  each  other  by 
the  tenderest  ties  of  nature  and  affection,  ties  which 
herself  contributed  to  form, — was  most  cherished. 
But,  alas !  how  numerous  the  unseen  thorns  that  en- 
twine with  the  wreath  of  love,  and  wound  as  surely 
as  its  fragrance  delights !  Separation,  sickness,  death, 
are  inevitable, — all  how  insupportably  dreadful,  un- 
less considered  in  connection  with  another  and  a 
better  world." 

[323] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [urn 

My  mother  found  in  the  maternal  relation  the 
happiness  of  which,  in  earlier  days,  she  cherished  the 
imagination.  Cousin  Fanny  Searle  has  often  spoken 
to  me  of  my  mother's  peculiar  charm  in  that  relation, 
and  of  the  look  of  love  and  tenderness  she  used  to 
see  upon  her  face  when  her  eye  rested  upon  her 
child. 

Our  next  record  is  in  the  following  extract  from 
a  letter  addressed  by  Margaret  Searle  to  her  cousin 
Mary  Eliot: 

"April  22nd,  1808. 

"  Spent  half  an  hour  with  Nancy,  and  then  went 
to  see  Mrs.  White.  I  found  our  celestial  friend  more 
like  an  angel  than  ever.  Her  eyes  have  regained  all 
their  lustre,  and  beamed  on  me  surcharged  with  af- 
fection." 

And  again: 

"June  16th,  1808. 

"Sunday  morning  we  had  a  charming  visit  from 
Mr.  White  and  his  Mary,  who  never  looked  more 
beautiful,  or  appeared  more  lovely." 

My  mother  wrote  as  follows  to  my  father,  who 
was  in  Salem: 

"Newbury  Port,  June  28th,  1808. 
"  Convinced  the  storm  of  last  night  awakened  the 
solicitude  of  the  Husband  and  Father,  I  write,  dear- 
est beloved,  to  assure  you  we  are  in  safety  and  in 

[324] 


1808]  NEWBURYPORT 

health.  Nothing  of  the  kind  equally  severe  has  been 
known  here  for  many  years,  but  I  have  not  heard 
of  any  worse  consequence  than  the  destruction  of  a 
large  elm  back  of  Mr.  Farnham's,  by  which  the  roof 
of  the  house  was  considerably  injured,  and  the  family 
extremely  terrified.  The  tempest  was  preceded  by  a 
perfect  calm,  and  a  close,  intense  heat ;  at  sunset,  the 
lightning  commenced,  and  for  an  hour  and  a  half, 
exceeded  anything  I  ever  witnessed ;  the  atmosphere 
appeared  on  fire ;  loud  peals  of  thunder  were  rendered 
more  impressive  by  a  hurricane  of  wind  and  hail.  I 
then  experienced  how  true  it  is  that  we  derive 
strength  from  the  weakness  of  others ;  being,  not- 
withstanding my  natural  timidity,  more  composed 
than  any  one,  little  Mary  excepted,  who  slept  with 
all  the  tranquillity  of  innocence  in  her  mother's  lap. 
"You  doubtless  think  I  have  written  enough.  For 
my  health  I  have,  but  finding  it  the  sweetest  occu- 
pation when  absent  from  you,  I  am  not  disposed  to 
resign  it;  for  your  sake,  however,  I  will  close  with 
an  affectionate  adieu." 

A  week  later  my  mother  was  in  Concord,  for  a 
short  visit.  In  a  letter  from  my  father,  from  Boston, 
dated  "July  5th,  1808,"  he  says,  "The  day  was 
marked  by  the  melancholy  tidings  of  Mr.  Ames' 
death.  The  people  of  Boston  have  voted  to  have  a 
public  funeral  here,  and  appointed  Mr.  Dexter  to 
deliver  a  eulogy  to-morrow  at  the  funeral." 

My  grandmother  wrote  after  their  return: 
[325] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [ion 

"Concord,  August  29th. 

"I  congratulate  my  dear  children  on  the  recovery 
of  their  beloved  child.  None  but  a  parent  can  ex- 
perience those  tender  sensations  entwined  around 
the  heart,  when  disease  attacks  our  darling.  May 
she  be  spared,  and  crown  your  wishes  in  their  full  ex- 
tent, but  may  you  be  enabled  to  say '  All,  all  is  right, 
by  God  ordained  or  done.'  I  have  seen  the  delight 
of  my  eyes,  and  my  fondest  expectations,  removed 
by  death  and  distance,  but  firmly  believe  it  is  infinite 
Love  that  directs  and  supports  us.  Why, then,  should 
I  repine?  I  do  not,  nor  ever  will,  but,  while  I  am  con- 
tinued, will  endeavour  to  fulfil  the  duties  assigned 
me. 

"  Sally's  cough  is  as  bad  as  ever.  She  is  abroad  on 
a  horse  every  fine  day,  and  longs  to  visit  you,  but  I 
know  not  when  any  of  us  will.  If  it  is  possible,  I 
determine  to  before  the  cold  weather  takes  place. 

"I  perceive,  by  to-day's  paper,  you  are  not  dis- 
posed to  be  submissive  to  higher  powers.  I  believe 
there  are  many  refractory  in  every  town,  but  I  dread 
the  consequences  of  opposition.  The  embargo  has 
had  a  serious  effect  on  every  class  of  men.  It  is  im- 
possible to  get  cash  for  your  labour  or  materials. 
The  only  cash  I  have  heard  of  for  many  months  has 
passed  from  Mrs.  Paine  to  Stephen  Minot  for  his 
house,  which  is  fifteen  hundred  dollars.  So  many 
pence  are  scarcely  in  circulation  in  this  town." 

[326] 


1808]  NEWBURYPORT 

We  have  no  letters  either  to  or  from  my  mother 
during  the  month  of  September,  1808,  to  show  what 
may  have  been  her  anxiety  at  that  time  for  the 
precious  object  of  her  hopes  and  fears. 

My  grandmother's  next  letter,  however,  of  Octo- 
ber 3d,  indicates  the  suffering  of  those  unrecorded 
weeks.  I  extract  from  it  the  following: 

"The  heart  that  cannot  sympathize  with  those 
who  are  in  trouble  must  surely  be  a  very  depraved 
one,  but  when,  by  experience,  we  feel  every  pang 
for  those  whose  lives  are  entwined  with  our  own,  it 
is  acute.  Our  dear  little  babe  has  suffered  much,  but 
your  last  letter  has,  again,  revived  our  hopes." 

These  hopes,  alas!  were  destined  to  disappoint- 
ment. The  letter  which  must  have  been  written  con- 
taining the  sad  intelligence  of  the  dear  child's  death 
was  not  preserved.  From  other  records,  we  learn 
that  she  died  on  the  eighth  of  October,  1808,  having 
lived  only  six  months  and  eleven  days.  I  have  often 
heard  my  dear  father  speak  of  her  as  parents  always 
do  speak  of  the  early  lost.  I  remember,  too,  his  tell- 
ing my  sister  and  myself,  when  we  were  quite  young, 
of  the  beautiful  calmness  with  which  my  mother 
met  the  event,  performing  the  last  sad  offices  her- 
self, and  suffering  no  other  hand  to  prepare  the  lovely 
form  for  its  last  resting-place. 

Our  next  date  shows  us  that  my  mother  left  home 

[327] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [law 

soon  after  her  great  loss,  to  visit  her  friends  in  Con- 
cord, whence  she  wrote  to  my  father,  as  follows : 

"Concord,  October  24th,  1808. 
"  I  write,  not  to  commune  with  you,  for  that  I  do 
sleeping  and  waking,  at  all  times ;  not  to  assure  you 
of  my  tenderest  love,  for  of  no  truth  can  you  be  more 
persuaded  than  of  that ;  not  to  speak  of  my  health, 
for  it  is  neither  better  nor  worse ;  not  to  charge  you 
to  guard  your  own  cautiously,  for  you  cannot  neg- 
lect that  on  which  your  Mary's  happiness  is  so  de- 
pendent. For  what  then  ?  For  the  pleasure  of  writ- 
ing to  you,  best  beloved.  If  it  were  not  for  the  shame 
of  childishness,  I  believe  I  should  ask  to  return  home 
next  week.  My  friends  here  are  very  good  and  atten- 
tive, but  nothing  can  compensate  for  the  want  of 
my  husband's  society.  Recollect  me,  darling,  to  all 
our  friends.  Offer  Mamma's  best  regards,  with  my 
warm  affection,  to  dear  Mrs.  Greenleaf,  and  ask  her 
to  remember  me  when  she  looks  at  the  flowers." 

So  far  as  I  remember,  this  is  the  first  mention  I 
have  met,  in  my  mother's  correspondence,  of  "dear 
Mrs.  Greenleaf."  "Aunt  Greenleaf"  she  was  to  my  sis- 
ter and  myself,  and  no  kinder  nor  better  friend  had 
we  during  the  dreary  years  of  our  motherless  child- 
hood. She  was  a  neighbour  of  my  father  and  mother, 
to  whom  she  became  warmly  attached.  I  have  been 
told  that  after  my  mother's  death  my  father  was  in 
the  habit  of  dining  every  Saturday  at  Col.  Green- 
leaf's,  whose  house  was  like  home  to  him. 

[328] 


1808]  NEWBURYPORT 

From  my  mother  to  my  father: 

"Concord,  October,  1808. 

"  Nothing  less  potent  than  the  hope  of  improving 
my  health  could  reconcile  me  to  this  separation.  *! 
am,  indeed,  almost  home-sick.  Far  from  finding  the 
remembrance  of  the  little  girl  fade  from  my  mind, 
she  is  present  more  constantly,  and  in  more  affect- 
ing forms,  when  her  father  is  absent.  But  I  trust  I  do 
not  repine,  convinced  that  'all  is  right,  by  Him  or- 
dained or  done.'" 

From  my  father  to  my  mother: 

"Newbury  Port,  October  29th,  1808. 

"  I  find  it  more  gloomy  to  enter  our  dwelling  at 
night  than  I  had  thought  of — really  my  sleep  is  slack 
in  coming  to  my  eyes.  Darkness,  or  some  unknown 
magic,  impresses  in  a  peculiar  manner  the  tender  rec- 
ollections of  my  absent  wife,  and  dear  little  daughter. 
A  thousand  little  incidents  that  occurred  with  me 
and  our  precious  little  darling  are  forcibly  brought 
to  my  feelings,  and  I  realize  more  than  ever  the  loss 
we  have  sustained.  Religion,  alone,  can  supply  us 
consolation.  She  is  immortal,  and  there  is  power  to 
restore  us  to  her,  if  she  cannot  be  restored  to  us. 
May  our  hearts  and  lives  be  prepared  for  greater  and 
purer  happiness  than  this  world,  with  all  its  affec- 
tions and  blessings,  can  bestow." 

Again : 

"October  31st. 

"  I  am  unhappy  in  your  absence,  and  can  entirely 

[329] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [i*» 

sympathize  in  your  feelings  as  to  the  dear  little  girl, 
for  she  is,  too,  to  me,  'present  more  constantly,  and 
in  more  affecting  forms,'  in  her  mother's  absence.  I 
feel  a  peculiar  melancholy  over  my  feelings  to-day, 
and  cannot  feel  at  ease  till  I  witness  your  state  of 
health  and  have  the  power  of  guarding  you  myself. 
Adieu,  most  tenderly  beloved." 

From  my  mother  to  my  father: 

"Concord,  November  4th,  1808. 
"My  beloved  friend,  I  cannot  be  happy  in  your 
absence,  and  never  again,  unless  compelled  by  im- 
perious duty,  can  I  consent  to  so  long  a  separation. 
I  find  I  love  you  more  deeply  and  tenderly  than  I 
even  imagined.  You  have  bound  me  to  you  by  ties 
even  stronger  than  those  of  love.  How  can  I  think 
of  your  uniform  tenderness,  of  your  patience,  can- 
dour, and  generosity,  without  feeling  your  superior- 
ity to  all  the  other  beings  I  behold !  Yes,  my  dear- 
est friend,  when  we  were  united,  I  certainly  loved 
you,  sincerely  loved  you,  but  the  sentiment  was 
weak,  compared  with  that  I  now  feel.  Do  you  think 
many  wives  so  happy,  after  eighteen  months'  mar- 
riage, as  to  place  their  hands  on  their  hearts,  and 
affirm  this?" 

From  my  father: 

"Newbury  Port,  Nov.  6th,  1808. 
"  I  find  a  melancholy  sort  of  pleasure  in  suffering 
my  mind  to  revert  to  many  little  incidents  and 

[330] 


1808]  NEWBURYPORT 

scenes,  which  we  have  both  witnessed  with  our  dear 
little  Mary.  At  times,  I  feel  an  almost  inexpressible 
regret  for  her  loss,  which  nothing  but  your  presence 
can  soothe.  Dear  love,  we  have  lost  much, — but  we 
have  much  to  praise  and  bless  God  for.  The  child 
of  our  love  is  immortal  and  happy." 

[331] 


CHAPTER  XIII 

1809 
NEWBURYPORT 

EARLY  in  1809  my  father  and  mother  moved 
from  the  house  in  Fruit  Street,  which  was 
their  first  home,  to  one  in  State  Street  opposite  Mr. 
Searle's. 

The  following  letter  was  written  by  my  mother  to 
Miss  Mary  Harrison  Eliot,  shortly  before  Miss  Eliot's 
marriage  to  Mr.  Edmund  Dwight,  and  removal  to 
Springfield. 

"April  16th,  1809. 

'"Think  of  you — pray  for  you — and  love  you!' 
Yes,  sweetest  Mary,  the  tear,  the  glow,  which  your 
unexpected  and  most  welcome  letter  called  forth 
last  evening,  witness  for  me  that  your  remembrance 
will  ever  be  dear,  and  your  happiness  precious  to  me. 
With  less  than  your  own  feeling,  you  would  not 
have  comprehended  what  I  could  not  express  at  the 
parting  moment.  Aware  that  ere  we  met  again,  an 
event  must  have  taken  place  so  interesting,  so  im- 
portant, as  to  involve  eternal  consequences,  I  could 
say  but  little  of  the  many  things  that  pressed  for 
utterance.  Nor  can  I  now  tell  you  how  warmly  I 
hope,  and  how  firmly  I  believe  that  event  will  make 
you  wiser,  better,  happier,  for  it  unites  you  with  a 
Christian, — with  one  who  will  not  only  be  the  be- 

[332] 


1809]  NEWBURYPORT 

loved  companion  of  the  present  life,  but  who  will 
'allure  to  brighter  worlds  and  lead  the  way.'  It  opens 
to  you  new  sources  of  felicity,  it  enlarges  the  sphere 
of  your  influence,  and,  in  a  mind  and  heart  like  yours, 
will  awaken  the  best  and  noblest  energies.  I  will  no 
longer  intrude  at  this  interesting  moment — but,  it 
may  be,  some  weeks  hence,  when  you  are  tranquilly 
established  in  your  own  sweet  village,  and  your  par- 
lour wears  the  smile  of  home,  you  will  delight  me 
by  describing  your  situation  and  feelings,  and  re- 
ceive, in  return,  more  largely  of  mine. 

"Adieu,  sweet  Mary,  blessings  attend  you!" 

To  Miss  Margaret  Searle: 

"Newbury  Port,  April  25th,  1809. 

"  Tuesday  evening.  I  have  been  waiting,  my  dear 
Peggy,  for  a  bright  moment  to  address  you ;  a  mo- 
ment of  health,  of  spirits,  and  of  leisure.  Such  an 
one  has  not  arrived,  and,  as  I  know  you  have  no 
taste  for  insipidity,  I  have  chosen  the  reverse — a 
season  of  darkness,  of  solitude,  and  silence. 

"Wednesday.  An  unexpected  and  unwelcome 
visitor,  last  evening,  substituted  his  conversation  for 
the  pleasure  I  anticipated  in  passing  an  hour  alone 
with  you.  Part  of  this  morning  has  been  passed 
pleasantly  at  your  Mamma's,  where  all  your  friends 
are  well,  and  happy  in  having  Miss  Jackson  at  pres- 
ent with  them.  She  confirms  the  agreeable  tidings 
of  Miss  Lowell's  restoration,  which  your  letter  gave 
us  reason  to  hope.  Heaven  certainly  preserves  her 

[333] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

in  pity  to  her  friends,  to  whom  her  peculiar  character 
can  never  be  restored  in  any  probable  combination 
of  genius,  sensibility,  and  virtue,  which  the  world 
may  in  future  admire. 

"How  much  I  have  to  say  to  you  of  our  Mary, 
and  her  interesting  mother!  How  propitiously 
Heaven  smiled  on  our  dear  Mary's  journey!  Who 
could  have  expected  such  a  week  in  April!  And 
what  fine  moonlight  evenings  now  give  that  peculiar 
charm  to  the  country — a  charm  which,  almost  be- 
yond any  other,  tranquillizes,  softens,  and  elevates 
the  feeling  soul.  When  you  write  to  her,  have  the 
goodness  to  recollect  my  affectionate  remembrance, 
and  to  her  mother  render  my  affectionate  respects 
acceptable.  You  know  we  all  feel  for  her, — I  should 
rather  say,  all  but  Mr.  White.  He  affirms  that,  in 
this  degenerate  age,  to  unite  a  daughter  to  a  truly 
deserving,  excellent  man,  who  estimates  her  worth, 
and  will  ever,  from  principle  as  well  as  feeling,  exert 
every  power  to  shield  her  from  evil,  is  an  event  al- 
together joyous. 

"  I  would  say  something  of  our  admiration  of  Mrs. 
Grant,  but  half  a  page  and  five  minutes  are  worse 
than  nothing,  where  such  a  wonderful  union  of  tal- 
ents and  virtues  is  the  subject.  We  do  admire  her 
as  much  as  your  heart  can  wish." 

The  following  letter  from  my  grandmother  was 
written,  evidently,  on  receiving  the  news  of  my  birth, 
which  occurred  May  4th,  1809. 

[334] 


1809]  NEWBURYPORT 

"Saturday,  May  6th. 

"My  heart  and  soul  are  with  you,  my  dear  chil- 
dren. May  the  goodness  of  our  merciful  Father  per- 
fect His  work,  till  complete  health  is  restored.  Could 
I  expand  my  wings,  gladly  would  I  administer  all 
the  assistance  in  my  power.  I  have  been  a  prisoner 
since  the  last  day  of  March.  Sally's  cough  is  invet- 
erate. I  long  to  see  the  infant  with  my  dear  Mary, 
but  cannot  tell  when  I  shall." 

My  grandmother's  devotion  to  duty  is  illustrated 
at  this  time.  "Her  heart  and  soul"  are  with  her 
daughter.  She  "longs"  to  go  to  her,  but  Sally  re- 
quires her  presence.  She  knows  all  is  done  for  my 
mother  that  the  most  thoughtful  friendship  can  sug- 
gest, but  no  one  can  do  for  Sally  what  she  does.  For 
herself,  she  asks  only  to  do  the  duty  assigned  her  by 
the  providence  of  God.  From  that  duty  she  never 
turns  aside  to  "follow  the  devices  and  desires  of  her 
own  heart."  Well  might  her  daughter  write  of  her, 
as  she  did  on  one  occasion:  "my  revered  mother." 

From  my  mother  to  Fanny  Searle,  then  in  Mil- 

"Newbury  Port,  July  9th,  1809. 
"  Delighted  as  I  was  with  your  letter,  dear  Fanny, 
I  was  almost  ashamed  that  your  generosity  should 
have  preceded  my  fair  promises.  That  you  are  blest 
and  blessing,  enjoying  and  improving, gaining  health, 
and  an  acquaintance  with  the  fair  face  of  Nature,  al- 
most reconciles  me  to  your  absence,  and  this  you 
will  receive  as  no  inconsiderable  proof  of  affection. 

[335] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

"  It  seems  you  have  discovered  a  secret  which  has 
long  been  in  my  possession.  And  you  really  begin 
to  suspect  you  have  a  taste  for  the  simple  and  sub- 
lime beauties  of  Nature !  I  could  have  assured  you 
as  much  long  since,  and  have  often  wished  you  might 
realize  the  pure  and  exquisite  pleasures  of  which  you 
were  susceptible.  I  pretend  not  to  understand  why 
the  feelings  are  ennobled,  why  the  heart  swells,  and 
the  eyes  filled  with  tears  turn  to  the  Source  of  be- 
ing, on  viewing  material  objects;  but,  sure  it  is,  the 
sun  sinking  behind  distant  mountains,  gilding  and 
crimsoning  the  clouds  of  evening,  enkindles  a  glow 
of  devotion,  which  would  be  ill  exchanged  for  all  the 
pleasures  of  earth.  This  devotion,  this  sublime  feel- 
ing, does  not  arise  from  reflection ;  here,  I  believe  it 
is  true,  'when  we  begin  to  reason,  we  cease  to  feel;' 
or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  while  the  ecstasy  of  feel- 
ing exists,  we  are  unable  and  unwilling  to  analyze 
its  nature,  or  to  trace  its  cause." 

After  a  visit  from  my  mother,  my  grandmother 
writes : 

"Commencement  Eve. 

"  Sally  continues  much  the  same  as  when  you  left 
her.  She  is  evidently  declining.  It  is  a  journey  we  all 
must  take — how  soon,  or  who  goes  first  on  the  way, 
we  cannot  tell ;  but,  to  set  out  with  a  firm  and  joy- 
ful prospect  of  future  happiness,  I  know  not  any 
situation  so  enviable." 

[336] 


1809]  NEWBURYPORT 

The  following,  from  my  grandmother,  is  of  spe- 
cial interest,  from  the  tribute  it  contains  to  her  in 
the  relation  she  sustained  to  her  stepchildren. 

"October  29th. 

"I  hope  to  hear,  very  soon,  our  dear  infant  is  bet- 
ter than  it  has  been.  I  wish  I  could  say  we  were. 
Sally  says,  with  Job,  'Wearisome  days  and  nights 
are  appointed  me,'  but  hopes  she  shall  be  patient 
under  her  trials,  which  are  truly  distressing.  We  sup- 
posed, last  Sabbath  evening,  that  she  was  dying.  She 
took  a  separate  and  affectionate  leave  of  all  her  sur- 
rounding friends ;  she  then  called  me.  '  Mamma,  re- 
member me  affectionately  to  Mr.  White  and  Mary. 
Tell  them  I  love  them,  and  wish  them  every  bless- 
ing, here  and  hereafter.  And  now,  Mamma,  how  very 
pleasing  your  reflections  must  be.  I  never  regretted 
the  loss  of  my  own  mother,  and  now  thank  you  for 
your  tender  care.'  She  continued  talking  for  some 
time,  and  appeared  ready  for  her  summons.  Monday, 
she  revived,  and  is  now  a  patient  sufferer." 

Again  she  writes: 

"Concord,  November  29th,  1809. 
"My  dear  Children, — This  day,  at  three  o'clock, 
Sally  exchanged  her  abode  here  for  a  blissful  im- 
mortality. She  left  us  in  ecstasy  greater  than  I  can 
describe.  Her  uncommon  suffering  she  bore  with  the 
greatest  patience.  Her  last  expressions  were: — 'My 

[337] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [law 

God,  I  love  Thee,  I  adore  and  bless  Thee.  My  Sa- 
viour has  pled  for  me,  and  my  sins  are  all  forgiven ; 
I  am  sure  of  it,  and,  this  glorious  day,  angels  shall 
waft  me  to  my  Saviour,  and  He  will  present  me  to 
my  God.'  She  retained  her  senses  to  the  last  breath." 

From  my  mother  to  my  father: 

"Newbury  Port,  December  13th,  1809. 

"  I  know  my  dear  Husband  will  consider  the  simple 
intelligence  of  our  continued  existence  worth  the 
postage  of  a  letter,  however  clumsily  communicated. 
The  time  of  your  absence,  which  appears  very,  very 
long  to  me,  has  not  been  undiversified  by  company 
and  events.  I  suppose  your  apprehensions  all  awake 
at  the  mention  of  events;  but  as  none  of  them  have 
been  fatal,  or  even  promise  durable  consequences, 
good  or  evil,  I  shall  leave  you  to  the  amusing  sug- 
gestions of  your  own  imagination,  till  your  much 
wished  return.  Soon  after  you  left  town,  Dr.  Verg- 
nies  called,  and  expressed  an  opinion  that  Elizabeth 
had  the  measles ;  time  has  not  verified  his  predictions. 
I  endeavour  to  make  her  say,  *  Papa,  Papa,'  but  she 
seems  rather  to  prefer  'bubble,  bubble;'  which, 
whether  it  be  an  omen  of  innate  vanity,  or  of  pro- 
found reflection  on  the  emptiness  of  all  things,  I  can- 
not determine. 

"  I  have  seen  a  letter  from  Ann  Lowell,  in  which 
she  says  the  serious  part  of  the  Boston  world  are  an- 
ticipating war  with  Great  Britain.  Alas ! " 

[338] 


1809]  NEWBURYPORT 

The  year  1809  closes  with  the  following  letter 
from  my  mother  to  Miss  Fanny  Searle,  who  was  mak- 
ing a  visit  in  Boston.  Her  friend  Mrs.  Lee,  here  men- 
tioned, was  doubtless  Mrs.  Henry  Lee,  a  sister  of  the 
venerable  Dr.  Jackson,  both  of  whom  we,  of  later 
generations,  have  known  and  loved. 

"Newbury  Port,  Dec.  31st,  1809. 

"  The  last  evening  of  the  year  has  ever  been  to  me 
peculiarly  interesting.  Mr.  White  is  on  a  visit  of 
charity  to  Capt.  Wyer,  Elizabeth  sweetly  asleep,  and 
I  cannot  resist  the  wish  to  make  you  the  companion 
of  the  ensuing  hour,  my  dear  Fanny.  And,  first,  let 
me  thank  you,  which  I  most  affectionately  do,  for 
the  kind  letter  I  received  last  evening.  I  feel  your 
absence  sensibly ;  and  the  best  substitute  for  your- 
self I  find  in  your  letters,  and  the  belief  that  you  are 
surrounded  by  friendship,  virtue,  and  genius.  I  know 
you  enjoy  much,  and  delight  in  thinking  you  will 
not  enjoy  less  in  the  retrospection  of  your  present 
pleasures.  You  do  well  to  prolong  your  visit.  Your 
charming  friend,  Mrs.  Lee,  will  long  bless  you,  I 
trust ;  but,  on  Miss  Lowell's  lustre  the  eye  fixes  more 
fondly,  from  the  conviction  that  it  will  soon  cease  to 
irradiate  our  humble  sphere. 

"  Mrs.  Grant's  letter  has,  indeed,  delighted  me ;  not 
only  because  it  is  distinguished  for  her  elegant  sim- 
plicity of  style,  her  piety,  her  sensibility,  her  domes- 
tic virtues,  but  because  it  assigns  a  reason  for  giving 
to  the  world  her  private  correspondence,  which  goes 

[339] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

directly  to  the  heart,  and  satisfies  the  most  fastid- 
ious delicacy.  When  we  meet,  we  will  say  more  of 
her. 

"  I  now  descend  to  a  humbler  subject,  but  one  not 
less  interesting  to  you,  I  hope.  Elizabeth  has  gradu- 
ally thrown  off  her  cold,  which  continued  oppressive 
several  days  after  you  left  us ;  she  progresses  finely, 
and  demonstrates  the  perfection  of  her  organs  of 
speech.  Kotzebue  has  said  fine  things  about  Nature's 
three  holidays ;  he  should  have  made  them  three  times 
three.  Her  first  perfect  word  can  hardly  afford  me 
more  pleasure  than  her  first  feeble  effort  at  articula- 
tion. Gate  laughed  at  me  the  other  evening  for  say- 
ing she  articulated  very  well, — it  was  true,  neverthe- 
less. 

"  See,  my  dear  Fanny,  I  have  prattled  away  two 
pages.  When  I  sat  down,  it  was  my  intention  to  have 
taken  a  serious  retrospect  of  the  past  year,  and  to 
have  called  on  you  to  aid  me  in  putting  in  practice 
the  good  resolutions  which  humiliating  self-exami- 
nation inspires. 

"The  hour,  the  fire,  and  my  paper,  warn  me  to 
close.  Good-night,  my  dear  Fanny.  May  the  Father 
of  angels  and  of  men  protect  and  bless  you." 

[340] 


CHAPTER  XIV 

1810 
NEWBURYPORT 


F 


ROM  my  mother  to  Ruth  Hurd,  who  was  then 
visiting  in  Portsmouth: 


"Newbury  Port,  March  5th,  1810. 
"  I  am  sure  your  heart  will  not  suffer  you  to  ac- 
cuse me  of  negligence,  my  dear  Ruth,  though  your 
affectionate  letter  is  still  unanswered.  The  truth  is, 
I  am  just  recovering  from  one  of  the  most  unsocial, 
obstinate,  vile  colds  I  ever  entertained  for  so  long  a 
time.  And,  though  I  endeavoured  to  soften  its  ob- 
duracy by  the  most  attentive  politeness,  it  ceased  not 
to  persecute  me  from  room  to  room,  till  it  finally 
drove  me  to  my  chamber,  where  it  held  me  a  priso- 
ner two  or  three  days.  Not  so  has  my  dear  Ruth  been 
abused.  I  have  heard  of  her  sparkling  in  Assemblies, 
'fairest  where  all  were  fair,' — for  it  is  a  law  of  so- 
ciety, if  not  of  nature,  that  all  ladies  look  well  in 
ball-rooms.  All  do  not,  indeed,  trip  gracefully  'on 
the  light,  fantastic  toe,' — but  they  tell  me  fashion 
has  pronounced  agility  much  better  than  grace, — 
and  that  rope-dancers  and  wire-dancers  would  wrest 
the  palm  from  the  fair  Sisters,  should  they  conde- 
scend to  wind  the  mazes  of  a  modern  dance.  This 
account  of  the  present  state  of  things  greatly  dis- 

[341] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isio 

mayed  me  when  I  thought  of  you, — for,  though  I 
have  often  marked  in  you  the  line  of  beauty,  I  never 
yet  witnessed  the  delectable  jump. 

"  Our  little  Elizabeth  improves  daily, — her  golden 
hair  increases  in  quantity  without  diminishing  in 
lustre,  and  every  week  adds  to  the  expression  of  her 
true  blue  eyes.  My  husband  is  well,  and  was  never 
more  agreeable,  excepting  that  he  is  a  little  given  to 
reading  political  pamphlets,  and  to  grieving  over 
the  weakness  or  wickedness  of  our  rulers." 


From  my  mother  to  my  father,  who  was  then  at- 
tending court  at  Ipswich,  in  the  month  of  March. 

"  Wednesday  morning. 

"My  dearest  husband  needs  no  additional  proof 
of  my  weakness,  else  could  I  give  him  such  a  picture 
of  the  delight  Mr.  B.'s  promise  of  his  return,  and  the 
disappointment  his  letter  gave  me,  as  it  is  better 
to  omit.  I  rejoice  to  know  you  are  well,  and  submit 
to  wait  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  so  long  as  duty 
shall  demand  your  absence.  We  too  are  well.  Eliza- 
beth never  was  more  alive  and  lovely. 

"  Our  friends,  Caty  and  Fanny  Searle  have  passed 
both  the  last  evenings  with  me,  and  I  have  had  the 
Memoir  of  Miss  Smith,  and  have  more  than  realized 
every  expectation.  She  must,  indeed,  be  considered 
the  wonder  of  the  age.  Her  portrait  is  prefixed  to 
the  volume.  'Tis  the  very  face  you  would  choose, — 
'soft,  modest,  melancholy,  female  fair.'" 

[342] 


1810]  NEWBURYPORT 

My  mother  to  Miss  Bromfield : 

"Newbury  Port,  March  5th,  1810. 
"  That  you  went  to  town  at  this  time  may  be  con- 
sidered truly  Providential.  To  one  whose  mind  and 
heart  are  open  to  the  truth,  each  day  confirms  this 
most  consoling  and  delightful  doctrine  of  our  Relig- 
ion. I  know  of  nothing  else  which  can  console  us  un- 
der many  sorrows,  or  enable  us  to  'possess  our  souls 
in  peace,'  amidst  the  little  cares  and  crosses  which 
chequer  the  brightest  life.  But  why  say  this  to  you, 
whose  faith,  so  much  more  constantly  operative 
than  my  own,  produces  the  habitual  'joy  of  believ- 
ing'?" 

From  my  grandmother  to  my  mother: 

"Concord,  March  7th,  1810. 

"I  have  made  it  my  earnest  prayer  to  bear  with 
resignation  the  many  disappointments  of  life,  pre- 
suming it  will  all  turn  out  right  in  the  end,  and  must 
wait  with  patience  till  our  Almighty  Parent  permits 
me  to  see  you.  I  am  almost  sick  with  thinking  I 
cannot  when  I  wish ;  but  when  I  view  the  other  side, 
and  know  that  you  are  blest  with  one  of  the  best  of 
husbands,  and  not  so  far  off  as  you  might  have  been, 
and  how  much  superior  your  lot  is  to  many  others, 
I  have  the  greatest  reason  to  exert  all  my  powers 
in  gratitude,  thanksgiving,  and  praise. 

"I  have  not  been  a  mile  from  home  since  June 
last.  Therefore  I  hope  you  will  come,  as  soon  as  the 

[343] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [uio 

roads  permit,  and  make  happy  your  affectionate 
mother,  P.  H." 

Again,  from  my  grandmother: 

"Concord,  April  3rd,  1810. 
"Our  Democrats  rejoice  in  the  new  election. 
They  have  carried  their  point  so  far, — we  expect 
to  lose  our  Representative.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Merrick 
passed  last  evening  with  us.  We  were  gloomy,  as 
the  papers  assured  us  we  had  lost  our  Governor. 
This  morning,  our  hopes  are  revived ;  five  hundred 
majority.  Laus  Deo!"  [Referring,  doubtless,  to  the 
state  of  the  country,  for  my  grandmother  was  no 
less  a  patriot  than  she  was  a  Christian,  she  now  closes 
her  letter  as  follows]  "Adieu,  my  dear  children, — 
may  you  live  to  see  better  days ! '  There 's  a  Divinity 
that  shapes  our  ends,  rough  hew  them  how  we  will.' 
Let  us  ever  remember  we  are  blest  beyond  our  de- 
serts, and  hope,  in  due  time,  we  shall  reap  the  re- 
ward of  a  well-spent  life." 

A  week  later,  my  grandmother  writes: 

"April  13th. 

"  Do  you  not  think  your  mother  very,  very  good, 
my  dear  Mary,  to  drop  her  work  which  is  almost 
finished,  to  write  an  answer  the  very  day  she  re- 
ceived yours  ?  I  think  you  say,  'What  could  you  do 
better,  Mamma?'"  [After  giving  a  piece  of  village 
news,  she  says]  "You  know  it  is  Court  week,  and 

[344] 


1810]  NEWBURYPORT 

a  very  full  Court,  by  reason  of  some  of  the  worst 
crimes."  [After  detailing  some  of  them,  my  grand- 
mother exclaims]  "  It  is  dreadful  to  know  the  de- 
pravity of  the  times ;  the  state  of  our  political  affairs, 
and  the  present  degeneracy  of  the  times  are  enough 
to  distract  those  who  observe,  and  look  forward  to 
the  event  which  will  take  place  soon ;  'dreadful  post 
of  observation  darkens  every  hour.'  I  feel  for  you,  my 
children.  I  shall  experience  but  a  small  part,  as  the 
time  draws  nigh,  according  to  the  course  of  nature, 
when  I  must  depart. 

"Mr.  Merrick  and  I  have  our  caucus,  and  settle 
the  nation  sometimes ;  at  other  times,  we  hear  of  so 
many  aggravating  circumstances,  it  is  our  firm  opin- 
ion we  shall  have  to  bow  the  knee,  if  not  the  neck, 
to  Baal."  [Referring  to  the  Massachusetts  Senate,  to 
which  my  father  had  been  elected,  she  says]  "I  think 
Mr.  White  will  not  have  a  very  pleasant  situation, 
with  such  a  wasp-nest  round  him,  but  I  hope  he  will 
convince  and  convert  one-half  of  them,  and  take  the 

bandage  from  the  eyes  of  the  blind." 

i 

My  mother  to  Mrs.  Gorham : 

"Newbury  Port,  April  26th. 
"My  Husband  has  been  three  days  at  Ipswich 
Court,  and  I  have  no  prospect  of  seeing  him  till  Fri- 
day evening.  This  should  serve  as  a  preparative  for 
his  longer  absence,  which  I  have  hardly  patriotism 
or  fortitude  enough  to  enable  me  to  think  of  with 

[345] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isio 

composure.  No  one  can  make  a  greater  sacrifice  of 
feeling  to  a  sense  of  duty  than  Mr.  White  does  on 
this  occasion.  A  great  many  very  good  people,  who 
have  no  idea  that  a  manly  heart  can  ache  at  the  pros- 
pect of  a  few  weeks'  separation  from  a  family,  think 
they  offer  sufficient  consolation,  when  they  assure 
him  his  interest  will  be  ultimately  benefited  by  this 
temporary  sacrifice." 

Towards  the  end  of  May,  my  mother  went  to  Con- 
cord to  make  a  visit.  In  a  letter  to  my  father,  who 
was  in  Boston,  she  says : 

"Concord,  June  1st. 

"Have  the  kindness  to  give  Cousin  Mary  two 
dollars,  and  request  her  to  procure  me  a  green  bon- 
net. I  should  prefer  thick  silk,  which,  if  she  cannot 
obtain,  I  would  thank  her  to  get  me  a  straw.  A  straw 
bonnet  will  be  three  or  four  dollars." 

My  mother  to  Ann  Bromfield: 

"Newbury  Port,  August  28th. 
"  I  must  be  brief,  and  can  do  little  more  than  grate- 
fully acknowledge  kindness,  and  assure  you  of  my 
affection;  for,  since  you  left  us,  I  have  been  quite 
sick.  A  slight  hemorrhage  of  the  lungs  reduced  me 
last  week  to  a  whisper ;  digitalis,  and  milk,  and  Dr. 
Vergnies,  with  the  blessing  of  Heaven,  have  almost 
restored  me,  but  I  fear  to  make  any  exertions  yet, 

[346] 


1810]  NEWBURYPORT 

— therefore,  say  nothing  of  Channing,  of  your  dis- 
appointment, and  my  disappointment.  Your  account 
of  Miss  Lowell  grieves  me.  May  Heaven  yet  pre- 
serve her!  A  heart  full  of  love  to  our  dear  Susan, 
and  prepare  to  tell  me  everything  she  says  and  looks 
and  does." 

My  grandmother  to  my  mother: 

"Concord,  Sept.  3rd,  1810. 

"Your  letter  and  cambric  reached  me  on  Sat- 
urday, accompanied  by  three  elegant  volumes  from 
Thomas  Hurd,  (Boswell's  '  Life  of  Johnson,')  with  a 
billet,  requesting  your  Papa's  acceptance,  as  a  token 
of  his  gratitude  for  his  advice.  It  was  very  pleasant 
to  me,  as  I  have  been  entertained  to-day. 

"  I  am  truly  sorry  when  you  suffer  from  ill-health. 
Sarah  wrote  me  a  line  that  you  were  much  better, — 
my  spirits  were  much  elated.  I  opened  your  Aunt 
Gould's  letter.  She  wrote,  '  Your  amiable  daughter 
looks  like  a  drooping  lily.'  Down  went  the  spirits 
right  into  the  shoes.  I  long  to  see  you,  but  cannot 
tell  when  I  shall.  Providence  will  send  me  in  the  best 
time  and  manner,  I  doubt  not.  I  do  not  yet  despair 
of  seeing  you  this  fall. 

"  Our  papers  give  us  pompous  accounts  of  the  Em- 
press B — te.  I  hope  she  will  do  much  good,  but  I  can- 
not think  she  can  perform  miracles. 

"Our  Democrats  are  very  silent  respecting  their 
friend  Bidwell.  We  have  heard  P.  Morton  is  to  be 
Attorney  General, — like  unto  like. 

[347] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isio 

"Thus  far  I  have  written  by  twilight.  I  will  now 
conclude  with  transcribing  one  of  Dr.  Johnson's  let- 
ters to  his  mother,  which  exactly  suits  my  present 
thoughts,  as  applicable  to  you. 

"'Your  weakness  afflicts  me  beyond  what  I  am 
willing  to  communicate  to  you.  I  do  not  think  you 
unfit  to  face  death,  but  I  do  not  know  how  to  bear 
the  thought  of  losing  you.  I  pray  often  for  you ;  do 
you  pray  often  for  me.  I  am,  dear,  dear  mother,  your 
dutiful  son,  S.  J.' 

"Does  not  this  portray  an  affectionate  heart?  I 
cannot  write  more.  At  present,  we  have  workmen 
to  provide  for.  Write  soon,  if  but  ten  lines.  Adieu. 
God  bless  you  all." 

Again,  from  my  grandmother: 

"Concord,  Sept.  29th. 

"My  dear  Mary, —  Did  I  not  endeavour  to  make 
it  a  study  to  bear  disappointments  with  some  degree 
of  fortitude,  I  should,  at  the  present  moment,  be  al- 
most sick.  In  expectation  of  seeing  you  the  last  of 
next  week,  I  have  been  pleased  as  a  child  with  a  rattle. 
The  prospect  is  now  cut  off  for  some  time.  Isaac's 
children  are  very  sick.  Their  cough  is  so  violent  it 
seems  as  if  nature  must  give  way.  That  is  not  the 
whole  cause.  I  cannot,  on  any  consideration,  procure 
any  one  to  take  care  of  the  house  in  my  absence. 
Your  Papa  has  made  every  exertion,  but  there  is  no 
prospect  for  a  month  or  six  weeks  to  come.  It  is  un- 
doubtedly for  the  best.  'The  smoothest  course  of 
nature  has  its  pains.'" 

[348] 


1810]  NEWBURYPORT 

The  desired  visit  was  made  in  October.  On  De- 
cember 12th  my  mother's  third  daughter  was  born. 
Again  my  dear  grandmother  is  kept  from  her  daugh- 
ter's sick-bed  by  her  sense  of  duty  to  others.  "  Grand- 
mamma Thompson,"  the  mother  of  Dr.  Kurd's  first 
wife,  to  whom  my  grandmother  was  as  a  daughter, 
died  of  lung-fever  at  this  time,  and  she  was  obliged 
to  be  with  her. 

[349] 


CHAPTER  XV 

1811 
NEWBURYPORT :  ILLNESS,  DEATH,  TRIBUTES 

IT  is  with  sadness  which  I  cannot  repress  that  I 
enter  upon  the  record  of  the  year  1811,  of  which 
my  mother  did  not  see  the  close.  We  have  nothing 
further  from  her  pen  except  her  letters  to  my  father, 
who,  from  January  to  the  following  June,  was,  most 
of  the  time,  separated  from  her  by  his  duties  in  the 
Massachusetts  Senate.  Their  correspondence  during 
that  period  is  of  affecting  interest  to  us,  even  when, 
as  in  many  cases,  their  letters  contain  little  more  than 
bulletins  of  health,  and  expressions  of  tenderest  so- 
licitude and  affection. 

The  earliest  date  of  the  New  Year  is  the  follow- 
ing from  my  father: 

"Boston,  Wednesday  evening,  Jan.  23rd. 

"  I  have  the  happiness  to  assure  my  dearest  love 
that  I  am  safe  and  snug  at  my  lodgings,  and  accom- 
modated very  much  to  my  mind.  I  have  a  chamber 
at  Mrs.  Vose's,  in  School  St.,  with  brother  Nash, 
two  good  beds  and  a  fire-place. 

"Now,  my  dearest  Mary,  I  have  to  pray  you  to 
be  careful  of  yourself,  and  not  to  make  any  effort  to 
write.  Above  all,  let  your  mind  be  as  free  from  care 
and  anxiety  as  possible.  Rest  your  confidence  in  that 

[350] 


1811]  NEWBURYPORT 

kind  Providence  which  has  so  often,  and  so  greatly, 
blessed  us.  You  are  the  constant  object  of  my 
thoughts  and  prayers,  and  may  you  realize  all  the 
health  and  happiness  we  so  ardently  desire." 

My  mother  to  my  father: 

"Netvbury  Port,  23rd  January,  1811. 

"If  possible,  I  will  this  morning  commence  my 
journal,  which,  though  it  will  contain  nothing  of  the 
wonderful,  and  little  of  the  wise,  will  not  be  uninter- 
esting to  my  dear,  dear  Husband. 

"  Thursday  morning.  Your  thrice  welcome  letter, 
beloved  Husband,  was  a  cordial  of  which  I  had  need. 
To  know  you  are  well,  and  pleasantly  situated,  that 
you  have  the  best  society,  and  the  disposition  and 
power  to  enjoy  and.  improve  by  it,  are  all  sources  of 
rich  consolation.  I  rejoice  too  that  you  are  not  alone. 
There  is  only  one  disadvantage  in  this  arrangement, 
— but  the  bed  is  an  altar  from  which  the  purest  in- 
cense often  ascends  to  the  throne  of  the  Almighty. 
There  you  will  remember  us.  There  you  will  sup- 
plicate pardon,  strength,  and  patience  for  your  most 
imperfect  Mary.  I  am  well  as  usual  this  morning,  and 
have  as  many  causes  of  gratitude  and  joy.  Why  fall 
these  tears !  Take  care  of  yourself,  dearest,  and  write 
soon  and  minutely  to  her  who  sees  but  you  in  the 
world,  and  who  is  for  life,  and  she  hopes  forever, 

Your  affectionate 

MARY." 
[351] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isn 

My  father  to  my  mother: 

"Senate  Chamber,  Jan.  24th,  1811. 

"Yesterday,  when  we  assembled,  one  of  the  Fed- 
eral Senators  was  found  missing,  and  the  Democratic 
members  seized  on  the  opportunity  to  attempt  an 
alteration  of  the  rules  of  the  Senate,  so  as  to  deprive 
the  President  of  his  power  to  vote,  which  would  give 
them,  on  all  occasions,  a  majority.  This  produced  an 
altercation  that  kept  us  together  from  morning  till 
near  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  subject 
was  finally  postponed  till  to-day,  when  our  absent 
member  arrived,  and  put  them  to  shame.  They  have, 
therefore,  gained  nothing  but  to  expose  their  mean- 
ness, and  to  put  us  more  on  our  guard. 

"I  went  last  evening  to  see  Cooke  in  lago,  and 
he  fully  equalled  my  expectation, — it  was  a  person- 
ation of  character  entirely  beyond  anything  I  had 
ever  witnessed." 

From  my  father: 

"Senate  Chamber,  Jan.  25th,  1811. 
"Though  I  wrote  yesterday,  and  though  nothing 
special  presents  for  writing  to-day,  except  acknowl- 
edging the  precious  letter  of  my  most  dearly  beloved 
wife,  yet  I  cannot  refrain  conversing  with  you  in  the 
only  way  at  present  permitted.  I  was  alarmed,  at 
opening  your  letter,  to  find  three  pages,  lest  it  should 
have  produced  too  much  exertion  for  my  dear  Mary. 
But  I  cannot  say  with  how  much  tender  sensibility 
I  perused  it.  Absence,  however  short,  makes  me  most 

[352] 


1811]  NEWBURYPORT 

sensibly  feel  my  dependence  on  you  for  happiness. 
And  your  expressions  of  love  could  never  have  given 
my  heart  more  exquisite  delight  than  I  experienced 
this  morning,  for  never  was  this  heart  more  entirely 
and  tenderly  devoted  to  you  than  at  this  moment. 

"Cousin  Hazen  White  is  now  in  town,  and  has 
been  very  attentive  in  watching  opportunities  to  see 
me.  I  believe  he  feels  really  grateful  to  you  for  your 
regard  in  the  naming  of  our  Isabella. 

"  We  have  had  another  very  unpleasant  day  in  the 
Senate,  in  consequence  of  the  sudden  indisposition 
of  brother  Ashmun,  from  Hampshire  County.  I  like 
to  call  him  brother,  for  he  is  not  only  a  lawyer,  but  a 
most  excellent  fellow,  and  a  companion  at  my  board- 
ing-house. We  had  to  wrap  him  up,  and  bring  him  out, 
in  order  to  stop  their  mischief.  But,  after  all,  they 
produced  a  committee,  to  answer  his  Excellency's 
speech,  of  their  own  sort.  The  President  had  the  nom- 
ination, but,  there  being  a  majority  of  Democrats  in 
the  Senate  without  his  vote,  and  as  they  voted 
against  every  nomination  of  a  Federal  member,  but 
one,  they  have  a  majority  of  Democrats  on  the  com- 
mittee. I,  with  Mr.  Ashmun,  had  the  honour  to  be 
voted  down  by  them.  I,  therefore,  have  not  the  trouble 
of  writing  the  answer.  This,  however,  is  a  matter  of 
trifling  consequence.  The  thing  I  most  fear  is  the 
turning  out  of  Mr.  Pickering,  a  Senator  of  the  United 
States,  which  we  have  hitherto  had  the  good  fortune 
to  prevent,  and  hope  we  shall  have  during  the  ses- 
sion." 

[353] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isn 

In  this  letter  my  dear  sister  is  spoken  of  by  the 
name  her  mother  gave  her,  and  that  not  the  name 
by  which  we  knew  her.  "Cousin  Hazen  White"  was 
a  son  of  my  father's  half-brother  William.  He  mar- 
ried, in  1808,  Isabella  Frink.  She  was  beautiful  in 
person,  and  interesting  in  mind  and  character, — a 
favourite  with  my  father.  She  died  November  9th, 
1810,  a  month  before  my  sister's  birth.  My  father 
and  mother  were  deeply  affected  by  her  death.  It  is 
not  surprising  that  my  mother  named  her  little  girl 
Isabella  Hazen.  But  she  was  not  destined  long  to 
bear  the  name.  On  the  day  of  her  mother's  burial 
she  was  named,  in  baptism,  Mary  Wilder. 

From  my  mother  to  my  father,  without  date: 

"Newbury  Port. 

"  I  bear  the  extreme  cold  as  well  as  could  be  ex- 
pected. This  is  not  the  temperature  I  could  wish, 
but  spring  will  come.  How  many  anticipations  do  I 
indulge!  Oh,  may  our  Heavenly  Father  grant  that 
we  may  tread  the  path  of  life  together,  supporting 
each  other  in  sickness  and  affliction,  and  enjoying 
together  the  blessings  with  which  He  has  crowned  us! 
May  we  see  our  dear  children  grow  up,  blessing  so- 
ciety, and  blessed  themselves  in  life  and  death! 

"How  good  you  are!  Your  letter  of  yesterday  has 
just  gladdened  me.  I  am  glad  you  have  seen  one  of 
the  master  characters  of  Shakespeare,  since  your  con- 
science did  not  forbid  the  pleasure." 

[354] 


1811]  NEWBURYPORT 

Again : 

"Newbury  Port,  Jan.  26th,  1811. 

"Most  dearly  beloved  Husband, — Your  letters  are 
such  cordials  a§  none  but  those  who  deeply  love  can 
conceive  of.  May  you  be  but  half  as  happy  in  receiv- 
ing mine,  and  I  shall  be  almost  content.  I  enter  into 
all  your  difficulties,  and  share  in  every  feeling;  I  am 
grateful  for  everything  you  tell  me,  but  when  you 
tell  me,  dearest  love,  that  I  am  so  tenderly  beloved, 
my  heart  and  eyes  overflow." 

My  father  to  my  mother: 

"Boston,  Jan.  27th,  1811. 

"My  dearest  may,  indeed,  be  'almost  content,'  for 
I  am  sure  my  letters  cannot  be  more  interesting  to 
her,  than  hers  are  to  me.  I  have  enjoyed  a  very  de- 
lightful day, — a  most  charming  sermon  from  your 
beloved  Channing,  a  most  precious  letter  from  my 
beloved  wife,  between  meetings,  and  a  very  excel- 
lent discourse  from  Dr.  Kirkland,  who  preached  for 
Mr.  Channing  this  afternoon.  When  engaged  to 
dine  the  other  day  at  Mr.  Lee's,  I  was  prevented 
by  being  kept,  most  of  the  afternoon,  at  the  Senate 
Chamber,  and  they  were  polite  enough  to  invite  me 
to  dine  with  them  to-day,  and  attend  their  meeting. 
Mr.  Channing  is,  certainly,  a  most  heavenly  preacher, 
and,  if  it  will  give  you  any  satisfaction  to  hear  it,  I 
can  truly  say  that  I  received  more  delight  from  him, 
this  morning,  than  from  the  celebrated  Cooke.  I 
went  to  see  him  almost  beyond  the  quiet  of  my  con- 

[355] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isii 

science,  but  I  was  with  such  men  as  Judge  Brigham, 
and  other  'grave  and  reverend  seniors.'  I  saw  him  in 
'Falstaff,'  and  'King  Richard,'  but  he  did  not  im- 
press me  so  strongly  with  his  excellence  as  in  '  lago.' 
He  has  now  left  Boston,  and  right  glad  am  I. 

"In  the  Senate,  we  expect  a  very  disagreeable 
week ;  brother  Ashmun  remains  seriously  indisposed, 
and,  I  am  afraid,  will  not  be  out  for  some  days,  which 
will  give  the  Democrats  ascendency.  I  really  pity 
him,  for  he  suffers,  not  only  from  sickness  in  a  strange 
place,  but  from  solicitude  on  account  of  the  partic- 
ular importance  of  his  health  at  this  time.  But  he  has 
every  attention,  medical  and  friendly.  Dr.  Warren 
has  been  with  him,  and  thinks  he  will  soon  be  well. 
My  time  is  much  occupied  on  committee  business, 
in  passing  on  petitions,  revising  bills,  laws,  etc.,  and 
I  have  little  time  for  visiting.  I  heard  at  Mr.  Lee's 
that  Mary  Emerson  was  in  town,  and  hope  to  see  her 
before  she  goes  to  Concord.  I  am  told  that  Mr.  Emer- 
son is  too  unwell  to  preach,  and  his  friends  are  ap- 
prehensive about  him.  I  have  not  seen  him. 

"  How  does  my  whole  heart  join  in  the  prayer  that 
we  may  together  tread  the  path  of  life,  and  enjoy  the 
rich  blessings  with  which  Heaven  has  crowned  us  1" 

My  mother  to  my  father: 

"Newbury  Port,  Sabbath. 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  wrong  in  devoting  a  part  of  the 
Sabbath  in  writing  to  that  beloved  friend  who  is  in 
all  my  thoughts,  and  is,  even  as  myself,  remembered 

[356] 


i8ii]  NEWBURYPORT 

in  all  my  devotions.  Devotions!  Ah,  how  little  do 
the  wandering  thoughts,  the  imperfect  desires,  the 
feeble  resolutions  of  such  moments  deserve  to  be 
called  devoted  to  an  Omniscient,  Almighty,  and  All 
Wise  Being!  Well  may  we,  or,  rather,  well  may  1 
say, — 'Forgive  the  sins  of  our  holy  things ! '  Yet,  my 
beloved  will  rejoice  to  know  that  tender  solicitude 
for  him  has  made  me  more  earnest  in  my  supplica- 
tions, and  has  produced  some  good  to  myself. 

"Did  you  see  Mary  Emerson  in  town?  She  was 
going  to  Concord  the  next  day,  but  intended  send- 
ing for  you  to  her  brother's,  whose  state  of  health  is 
considered  almost  desperate. 

"  Please  to  remember  my  chocolate  when  you  come 
on  Saturday." 

Again : 

"Newbury  Port,  Jan.  29th,  1811. 
"  Your  letter,  dearest  friend,  reached  me  last  eve- 
ning. I  rejoiced  in  your  Sabbath,  and  almost  feel  that 
I  ought  not  to  lament  your  absence  while  you  enjoy 
the  precious  privilege  of  listening  to  Channing.  I,  too, 
am  right  glad  Cooke  has  left  town, — not  that  I  ap- 
prehended danger  to  my  Husband  from  frequenting 
the  Theatre.  I  know  he  only  saw  the  ideas  of  Shake- 
speare brought  into  action  by  genius.  But,  how  great 
is  the  danger  to  young  men  whose  principles  are  un- 
formed! I  am  in  the  humour  for  sermonizing,  but  you 
can  well  dispense  with  all  I  would  say,  and  I  have 
other  things  to  write.  You  will  call  at  Mrs.  Eliot's 

[357] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [wn 

and  see  Margaret  Searle,  Eliza  [afterwards  Mrs. 
Guild],  and  Mary  Dwight  of  Springfield  [afterwards 
Mrs.  John  Howard], — a  sweet  girl,  and  warm  Fed- 
eralist, who  knows  and  admires  Mr.  Ashmun  and 
his  wife. 

"Heaven  grant  us  the  happiness  of  meeting  on 
Saturday.  Should  anything  necessary  prevent,  do  not 
fear  the  disappointment  will  make  me  sick.  I  shall 
submit,  and,  while  you  are  in  health,  submit  with 
tolerable  cheerfulness." 

From  my  father  to  my  mother: 

"Boston,  Jan.  30th. 

"No,  dearest  Mary,  it  is  not  wrong  to  devote  a 
portion  of  the  Sabbath  in  writing  what  awakens  so 
much  devotion  and  tender  affection  in  the  heart  of 
your  husband.  With  all  my  imperfections,  I  can  most 
truly  sympathize  in  your  good  feelings  and  senti- 
ments, and  I  pray  that  I  may  be  made  better  by  such 
sympathy. 

"Mr.  Ashmun  is  much  better,  and,  if  fair  weather, 
may  probably  be  out  to-morrow.  The  enemy  have 
gained  no  advantage  from  his  absence,  but  a  silly  and 
Democratic  answer  to  the  Governor's  speech.  I  know 
nothing  to  prevent  my  being  with  you  on  Saturday 
evening." 

From  my  mother  to  my  father: 

"Newbury  Port,  Thursday,  February  1st. 
"  If  your  indulgence  has  spoiled  me,  whose  is  the 

[358] 


1811]  NEWBURYPORT 

blame  ?  I  had  no  reason  to  expect  a  letter  yesterday, 
yet  I  was  a  little  disappointed  to  receive  'no'  from 
the  post-office.  I  know  and  grieve  for  your  constant 
confinement  and  employment,  this  painful  week.  I 
hope  I  shall  learn  all  about  yourself,  and  hear  of  Mr. 
Ashmun's  recovery,  from  your  own  dear  lips,  day 
after  to-morrow.  But  make  no  effort  to  come.  I  would 
not  have  you  ride  late,  or  in  any  way  risk  your  pre- 
cious health,  even  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you.  1 
can  do  without  you  another  week,  though  there  is 
no  pleasure  on  earth  I  desire  half  so  much  as  that 
of  embracing  you. 

"  We  are  all  well  as  usual,  and  so  are  our  friends. 
Ann  passed  the  day  yesterday.  In  the  morning,  I  had 
Channing's  incomparable  sermon  [on  the  death  of 
Ann  Lowell] ;  in  the  afternoon,  Nancy  read  us  Miss 
Lowell's  pious,  feeling,  and  poetical  version  of  many 
Psalms.  The  little  book  is  a  treasure.  '  Being  dead, 
she  yet  speaketh.' 

"Now  tell  me  as  much  about  your  own  dear  self, 
and  continue  to  love  as  you  are  beloved  by  your 

MARY." 

From  my  mother  to  my  father,  after  his  proposed 
visit: 

"Newbury  Port,  3rd  February,  1811. 

"Monday  morning.  My  best  beloved,  may  God 

preserve  you !  my  heart  is  oppressed  with  anxiety.  I 

should  so  rejoice  to  know  that  you  reached  the  Hotel 

in  safety  last  evening,  and  that  you  determine,  this 

[359] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isn 

morning,  to  wait  for  the  stage.  I  will  not  suffer  my 
mind  to  dwell  on  any  of  the  dreadful  possibilities 
that  may  have  befallen  you  in  this  tremendous  storm. 
I  have  had  some  moments  of  extreme  suffering,  but 
I  fly  to  our  common  Protector,  and,  while  I  sup- 
plicate mercy,  I  feel  almost  certain  you  will  be  pre- 
served. Do  not  trouble  yourself  a  moment  on  our 
account.  Mr.  Stewart  kindly  made  paths  for  us  this 
morning,  and  we  have  wood  enough  in  the  house  to 
last  two  or  three  days.  I  am  sitting  by  a  fine  fire, 
and,  could  I  know  you  safe  in  Boston  this  evening, 
I  think  I  should  be  happy.  I  do  not  ask  a  long  let- 
ter,— but  a  line,  a  word,  as  soon  as  you  arrive  in 
town.  Oh,  may  you  be  preserved  and  blessed,  dear- 
est, dearest  friend!  I  feel  how  weak  and  helpless  I 
am  without  you.  I  think  I  could  bear  almost  any- 
thing while  sustained  by  your  presence  and  affection, 
and  I  shall  be  strong  and  well  again,  if  I  know  you 
are  safe  and  well  again  in  Boston.  Adieu,  Beloved." 

Again,  from  my  mother: 

"Newbury  Port,  5th  of  February. 
"  Tuesday  evening.  Beloved  Husband,  where  are 
you?  What  would  I  not  give  to  have  that  question 
answered  as  I  wish!  I  am  not  sick,  but  I  am  most 
unhappy.  Could  I  only  know  you  safe  and  well, 
though  still  at  the  Byfield  Hotel,  I  should  be  con- 
tent, but  a  turnpike-road,  very  deep  snow, — not 
even  the  mail  has  been  in  from  Boston  from  Sunday 
till  this  afternoon,  and  it  was  brought  on  horseback ! 

[360] 


1811]  NEWBURYPORT 

My  dear,  dear  Husband !  may  Almighty  Power  and 
Infinite  Goodness  protect  you,  for  the  sake  of  our 
babes,  for  there  is  a  grief  which  I  fear  I  could  not 
bear. 

"  We  are  all  well,  if  we  could  only  know  you  were 
so — Adieu, — ever  tenderly  your 

MARY." 

From  my  father: 

"Boston,  Feb.  5th,  Tuesday. 
"  Scarcely  ever  in  my  life,  dearest  Mary,  had  I 
more  reason  to  thank  God  for  any  personal  favour, 
than  I  now  have  for  my  safe  arrival  here.  You  may 
easily  conceive  of  my  anxieties  on  the  way.  Indeed, 
I  felt  them  before  I  started  from  home  more  than  I 
was  willing  to  disclose  to  you.  I  feared  I  might  be  pre- 
vented reaching  here  in  season  to  take  my  place  at  the 
Senate  board,  but,  had  I  been  inclined,  I  did  not  feel 
quite  well  enough  to  come  away  on  Sunday  morn- 
ing. I  reached  Topsfield  very  well,  and  in  good  sea- 
son on  Sunday  evening,  and  had  a  very  good  night's 
sleep.  There  I  found  a  man  with  a  sleigh,  bound  to 
Boston.  On  Monday  morning,  the  inn-keeper,  with 
four  or  five  stout  men  and  horses  turned  out  to  help 
us  on  our  way,  but,  after  proceeding  about  two  miles, 
they  gave  it  up  as  impracticable,  and  we  returned 
to  the  Hotel  and  dined, — when  two  other  men  with 
sleighs  arrived,  bound  to  Boston;  so,  after  dinner, 
we  all  set  out  again,  with  shovels  as  well  as  horses 
and  men,  and  made  out  to  proceed  about  seven 

[861] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isii 

miles,  when  we  were  compelled  to  take  shelter  for 
the  night  in  a  not  very  comfortable  habitation.  This 
morning,  we  set  out  again,  and  succeeded  in  reach- 
ing Boston  this  afternoon.  You  told  me  not  to  ven- 
ture on  horseback,  but  I  had  no  other  way,  but  to 
come  on  foot;  and,  as  the  other  men  were  good 
enough  to  precede  me  with  their  sleighs,  I  was  en- 
abled to  ride  almost  the  whole  of  the  way,  whereas 
they  walked  behind  their  sleighs  a  great  part  of  it. 
The  snow  was,  in  some  places,  drifted  extremely, 
some  banks  from  twelve  to  twenty  feet  deep.  But  I 
am  safe  at  my  lodgings,  and  feel  very  well ;  I  believe 
I  have  taken  no  cold. 

"The  Democrats  have  acted  like  the  very  old  one, 
and  have  given  the  Federal  members  of  the  Senate 
great  trouble  and  vexation.  Brother  Nash  and  Pick- 
man,  as  well  as  myself,  were  absent  yesterday,  and 
so  were  two  Democratic  members,  which  gave  them 
only  a  majority  of  one.  They  have,  however,  been 
able  to  do  no  essential  mischief,  but,  had  I  not  come 
in  before  to-morrow,  they  would  have  had  an  op- 
portunity to  choose  their  Senator  for  Congress,  and 
oust  Mr.  Pickering.  We  are  now  all  on  the  spot,  and 
Mr.  Ashmun  is  quite  recovered." 

From  my  father: 

"Boston,  Feb.  6th,  1811. 

"  I  find  our  good  and  excellent  President  had  his 
feelings  put  to  a  severe  test  by  our  absence.  They 
attempted  an  alteration  of  the  rules  of  the  Senate, 

[362] 


1811]  NEWBURYPORT 

and  obliged  him  to  resist  them,  and  they  threatened 
to  put  him  out  of  the  chair,  and  other  abusive  threats, 
etc.  Our  friends  met  on  Monday  afternoon,  deter- 
mined and  expecting  to  continue  in  session  all  night, 
in  order  to  prevent  mischief;  but,  very  accidentally, 
had  the  power  to  effect  an  adjournment;  and,  next 
morning,  before  the  Democrats  could  effect  much, 
Mr.  Pickman  and  Nash  came  in.  Two  expresses 
were  sent  on  for  them  on  Monday,  by  Colonel  Thorn- 
dike  and  others.  My  friends  suffered  so  much  by 
our  absence  that  I  think  I  shall  not  expose  them 
to  it  again,  if  possible  to  avoid  it.  I  did  not  before 
know  that  I  had  the  power  to  lay  the  devil, — but, 
had  I  been  here,  all  their  base  attempts  would  have 
been  at  once  hushed. 

"Don't  think,  however,  my  beloved,  that  I  had 
not  full  compensation,  in  visiting  you,  for  all  my  fa- 
tigue and  sufferings.  The  delight  my  heart  received 
in  embracing  my  dear  wife  and  children,  and  witness- 
ing their  improvement,  cannot  easily  be  balanced  by 
anything  in  the  opposite  scale." 

Again : 

"Boston,  Feb.  7th,  1811. 

"  I  feel  now  quite  as  well  as  before  my  journey, 
which  does  indeed  impress  my  heart  with  religious 
gratitude.  I  believe,  from  the  manner  in  which  I  have 
sustained  this  fatigue,  my  constitution  possesses  more 
vigour  than  my  appearance  indicates. 

"Last  evening,  Jacob  Bigelow  called  to  see  me; 
[363] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE          [i8ii 

he  says  he  has  formed  a  connection  in  business  with 
Dr.  Jackson ;  so  that  he  occasionally  visits  Dr.  Jack- 
son's patients,  and  takes  charge  of  all  the  applications 
which  Dr.  J.  cannot  attend  to.  In  this  way,  he  will 
become  acquainted  with  the  best  people  in  town, 
and  be  soon  introduced  to  respectable  practice.  He 
appears  to  be  much  engaged,  and,  I  have  no  doubt, 
will  have  very  good  success." 

From  my  father,  again: 

"Boston,  Feb.  8th,  1811. 

"  We  have  had  a  very  pleasant  time  at  Mr.  Brooks.' 
Col.  Thatcher  was  there,  who  was  from  Monday  morn- 
ing to  Wednesday  evening  in  getting  from  Newbury 
Port  to  Boston.  Last  evening,  in  caucus,  Mr.  Gore 
and  Mr.  William  Phillips  of  this  town  were  agreed 
on  as  the  candidates  for  Governor  and  Lieutenant- 
Go  vernor.  It  is  expected  they  will  both  consent; 
though  it  is  probably  very  unexpected  to  Deacon 
Phillips.  He  is  a  very  modest  man,  but  greatly  dis- 
tinguished for  wealth,  benevolence  and  piety,  and 
said  to  be  a  very  sensible  and  well-informed  man.  I 
hope  he  will  not  decline  being  a  candidate,  as  I  be- 
lieve him  to  be  the  best  man  we  can  select  to  oppose 
the  opposite  candidate.  I  have  expressed  my  deter- 
mination not  to  be  a  candidate  for  the  Senate  an- 
other year,  but  my  friends  here  beset  me  with  every 
argument  to  shake  my  resolution.  Colonel  Thorn- 
dike,  after  many  flattering  things,  took  the  liberty 
to  say  that  the  people  in  Essex  would  not  be  recon- 

[364] 


1811]  NEWBURYPORT 

ciled  to  it,  that  they  would  curse  me,  and  say  that 
I  ought  not  to  have  come  for  one  year  only,  merely 
to  gratify  my  curiosity  or  vanity,  etc.  Now,  if  you 
think  it  best,  I  shall  resolutely  persevere  in  my  deter- 
mination, whatever  may  be  said  or  suffered,  though, 
on  some  accounts,  it  would  be  pleasant  to  be  here  a 
second  year,  were  not  the  sacrifice  too  great.  Absence 
from  you  and  the  children  I  feel  more  than  incon- 
venience as  to  business,  though,  on  all  accounts,  I 
ought  to  be  at  home.  I  shall  get  off  if  I  well  can, 
even  should  you  leave  me  entirely  to  myself." 

Again: 

"Boston,  February  llth,  1811. 
"  Having  been  disappointed,  by  the  storm,  in  din- 
ing with  Richard  Sullivan  last  Monday,  he  was  po- 
lite enough  to  renew  the  invitation  for  to-day.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Fay,  and  John  Sullivan  were  alone  pres- 
ent. Mrs.  Sullivan  is  a  very  sweet  and  lovely  woman. 
This  afternoon,  I  have  been  engaged  on  a  Commit- 
tee to  consider  the  subject  of  a  Hospital  to  be  es- 
tablished for  lunatics,  and  other  poor  and  disabled 
patients.  It  is  contemplated  to  grant  the  old  State 
or  Province  House,  worth  about  forty  thousand  dol- 
lars, for  this  purpose,  provided  that  individuals  can 
be  found  to  contribute  a  hundred  thousand  dollars. 
You  will  not  doubt  what  my  opinion  on  the  subject 
will  be.  Dr.  Warren  appeared  before  the  Commit- 
tee, and  entered  into  a  very  interesting  discussion. 
He  stated  instances  and  described  scenes  of  suffer- 

[365] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE          [mi 

ing,  that  the  world  thinks  little  of,  and  which,  he 
said,  were  known  to  but  few  except  physicians.  I 
hope  we  shall  be  able  to  get  the  sanction  of  the 
Legislature  to  the  contemplated  institution.  Dea- 
con Phillips  stands  ready  to  advance  twenty  thou- 
sand dollars  to  it,  and  many  others  will  follow  his 
example  in  proportion  to  their  ability." 

My  grandmother  writes  at  this  time: 

"Concord,  Feb.  llth,  1811. 

"After  an  absence  of  twelve  days,  the  delightful 
sun  has  again  revisited  us,— the  hearts  of  many  are 
made  glad  by  its  appearance. 

"I  long  to  hear  how  you  do  in  the  absence  of  your 
husband.  Miss  Emerson  did  not  give  me  any  satis- 
faction. She  said  if  you  were  not  sick,  you  would 
be,  by  excluding  the  light  and  air.  I  do  not  want 
anything  to  make  me  more  anxious  than  I  have 
been." 

It  would  seem  that  Miss  Emerson  was  in  advance 
of  the  age,  or,  at  least,  in  advance  of  good  Dr.  Verg- 
nies,  and  his  adherents,  on  the  subject  of  the  laws 
of  health. 

The  following  letter  from  my  father  was  evidently 
written  after  receiving,  from  some  other  hand  than 
my  mother's,  an  account  of  her  increased  illness. 

"Boston,  Feb.  12th,  1811. 

"The  anxiety  I  feel,  dearest  wife,  is  inexpressible. 
What  would  I  not  give  to  be  able  to  fly  to  you, 

[366] 


1811]  NEWBURYPORT 

and  take  upon  myself  all  your  pains  and  sufferings ! 
But  I  can  do  nothing, — not  even  contribute  to  re- 
lieve or  soothe  them.  My  mind  is  wholly  occupied 
about  you,  and  I  am  little  fitted  for  anything  else. 
But  I  would  not  add  to  your  suffering  by  any  con- 
cern about  me.  I  should  be  perfectly  well,  could  my 
heart  be  at  ease.  Its  best  consolation  is  in  suppli- 
cating the  Father  of  all  mercies  for  you  and  me.  At 
present,  I  feel  nothing  akin  to  happiness  but  in  pray- 
ing for  you.  I  will  cherish  the  hope  that  our  prayers 
will  be  heard." 

Again : 

"Boston,  Feb.  13th,  Wednesday  evening. 
"I  called  the  other  evening  at  Mr.  Gorham's,  by 
his  invitation.  He  had  a  small  party  of  gentlemen, 
composing  a  law-club,  as  Mr.  Lowell,  Prescott, 
Jackson,  Dutton,  etc.,  and  the  evening  was  very 
pleasant." 

Again : 

"Boston,  Feb.  15th,  Friday  evening. 
"Dearest  and  loveliest  of  human  beings,  you  know 
not  how  inestimably  precious  you  are  to  me.  I  must 
see  you  to-morrow  evening,  if  possible,  yet  do  not 
expect  me,  for  it  may  not  be  in  my  power  to  come. 
How  much  I  suffer  in  this  absence  from  you,  I  need 
not,  cannot,  express, —  but,  dearest  love,  you  have  a 
friend  Almighty,  who  is  ever  present  with  you,  and 
will  sustain  and  comfort  you." 

[367] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isn 

From  my  mother  to  my  father,  on  his  return  to 
Boston,  after  a  visit  to  his  home: 

"Feb.  20th,  Wednesday  afternoon. 
"  Let  us  bless  God,  dearest  friend,  that  the  term 
of  your  public  duty  has  almost  expired.  Ah,  how 
much  have  I  sacrificed  to  it!  I  rejoiced  to  know  you 
reached  town  in  safety." 

From  my  father: 

"Boston,  Feb.  21st,  1811. 

"Your  letter  of  yesterday,  dearest  love,  greatly 
relieved  my  heart.  Your  hand-writing  distressed  me, 
as  it  carried  evidence  of  painful  exertion  for  my 
sake.  How  ardently  does  my  prayer  respond  to  yours 
that  I  may  soon  be  at  liberty  to  return  to  you.  But, 
to  my  sorrow,  the  prospect  now  is  that  we  shall  be 
kept  here  into  next  week.  The  business  of  the  Sen- 
ate crowds  upon  us.  We  have  been  in  session  to-day, 
from  a  little  after  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  till 
about  eight  this  evening,  excepting  an  adjournment 
to  dine.  It  is  now  about  ten,  and  I  write  in  the  midst 
of  chit-chat,  and  cannot  write  you  as  I  should  wish; 
but  incoherencies,  etc.,  you  will  excuse,  and  will  not 
try  to  read  to  your  injury.  If  it  can  give  you  com- 
fort, I  am  determined  to  come  to  you  on  Saturday 
again,  if  I  must  return  on  Monday. 

"I  received  a  letter  of  yesterday  from  your 
mother,  and  wrote  her  an  answer  immediately  to- 
day, as  well  as  I  could  in  the  midst  of  business.  She 
had  heard,  through  Mary  Emerson,  of  your  illness, 

[368] 


1811]  NEWBURYPORT 

and  I  endeavoured  to  give  her  all  the  information 
about  you  in  my  power." 

Miss  Emerson  seems  to  have  been  but  a  Job's 
comforter  to  my  grandmother,  who,  always  in  de- 
mand at  her  own  home,  was  never  at  liberty,  it  ap- 
pears, to  follow  her  heart's  promptings  and  go  to 
my  mother  when  most  needed  by  her. 

From  my  mother: 

"Newbury  Port,  Saturday,  Feb.  23rd,  1811. 
"Your  letters  were  cordials,  my  dear  Husband. 
They  were  given  me  together  at  a  moment  when 
my  anxiety  was  painfully  excited.  I  have  continued 
to  improve  in  strength,  notwithstanding  the  extreme 
cold,  to  which  I  have  not  been  insensible,  though  my 
chamber  has  been  kept  warm  by  Fanny's  care.  When 
can  you  return  ?  I  ask  myself  the  question  often,  and 
as  often  sigh,  but  I  believe  it  will  be  in  the  best  time." 

From  my  father: 

"Boston,  Feb.  25th,  1811. 

"Dearest  Wife, — We  are  now  in  session  full  of 
business.  To-morrow  has  been  talked  of  for  the  Leg- 
islature to  rise,  but  it  will  probably  be  later — per- 
haps Thursday  or  Friday.  I  shall  probably  be  with 
you  the  day  after  we  rise.  I  am  very  impatient  un- 
der confinement,  but  you  will,  as  I  do,  bear  it  bet- 
ter when  you  know  that  I  have  made,  and  commu- 
nicated to  my  friends,  my  final  resolution  not  to  be 
subjected  to  such  confinement  again." 

[369] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isn 

From  my  mother,  in  reply: 

"Tuesday  evening. 

"My  dearest  Friend, — I  am  out  of  spirits.  The  dis- 
appointment of  this  evening  is  almost  too  much  for 
me.  I  almost  feel  as  if  it  was  determined  we  should 
not  meet.  I  calculated  on  this  day  or  to-morrow — 
well,  be  it  so !  I  am  not  worse,  Dr.  Vergnies  says ; 
on  the  contrary,  he  told  me  to  assure  you  I  am  do- 
ing well.  I  had  better  not  write,  than  send  so  sad  a 
letter — but  I  told  you,  in  the  beginning,  I  was  out 
of  spirits. 

"Why  don't  you  speak  of  yourself?  No  subject  is 
half  so  interesting.  You  have  been  indisposed,  and 
you  say  nothing  of  your  present  health." 

From  my  father,  in  reply: 

"Boston,  Feb.  27th,  1811. 

"Your  letter  of  last  evening,  dearest  Mary,  would 
quicken  my  speed  to  you,  were  it  possible  to  get  my 
liberty.  I  hope  and  trust  we  are  to  meet,  and  meet 
under  the  smiles  of  Providence,  notwithstanding  this 
bitterness  of  disappointment.  I  feel  it  most  sensibly, 
and  pray  it  may  not  be  repeated.  To-morrow,  we 
confidently  expect  to  rise ;  in  which  case,  I  shall  hope 
to  be  with  you  on  Friday.  But  I  shall  fly  to  you  the 
first  moment  in  my  power,  and  I  pray  God  to  have 
you  in  His  holy  keeping.  Your  letter  is  written  in 
lower  spirits  than  I  could  wish,  but  I  will  indulge 
the  hope  that  you  are  really  better." 

[370] 


1811]  NEWBURYPORT 

Miss  Emerson,  in  writing  to  my  mother  some 
weeks  earlier,  says,  "  Somehow,  I  do  not  connect  the 
idea  of  illness  in  you  with  unhappiness.  It  rather 
seems  like  renewing  an  opportunity  for  your  forti- 
tude, and  your  husband's  unaffected  and  interesting 
tenderness."  But  those  of  us  who  are  less  sublimated 
than  Miss  Emerson  can  hardly  read  this  record  of 
"fortitude,  "and  "tenderness,"  without  a  painful  sym- 
pathy, to  which  there  is  no  relief  till  the  husband  and 
wife  are  together  again. 

I  have  often  heard  my  father  speak  of  what  he  suf- 
fered in  these  repeated  separations  from  my  mother 
during  her  prolonged  illness,  especially  in  their  latest 
separation  of  this  kind,  which  we  have  yet  to  record, 
and  which  was  attended  by  peculiarly  distressing  cir- 
cumstances. But  my  mother  was  no  less  patriotic 
than  my  grandmother.  She  felt  that  my  father's  duty 
to  his  country  was  one  to  which  even  her  comfort 
must  yield,  and  it  was  doubtless  with  her  sanction 
that  he  changed  his  determination  not  to  leave  her 
again  for  public  life. 

We  have  nothing  more  from  my  mother's  pen. 
We  have  only  my  grandmother's  letters,  and  two 
or  three  from  my  father  and  other  friends,  to  give 
us  an  intimation  of  what  they  endured  during  the 
remaining  months  of  my  mother's  life,  from  "sus- 
pense between  a  weak  hope  and  a  great  fear,"  of 
which  Fdnelon  says,  "nothing  is  a  greater  trial  to  hu- 
man nature." 

At  this  time,  the  Rev.  William  Emerson,  father 
£371] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isii 

of  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  and  minister  of  Chauncy 
Place  Church,  was  seriously  ill,  and  his  sister,  Miss 
Mary  Emerson,  writes  to  my  father  and  mother: 

"Boston,  March  14th,  1811. 
"Dear  Friends, — I  have  been  here  a  fortnight  or 
less,  and  once  heard  from  Concord,  but  not  from  you. 
Will  you  let  me  have  that  satisfaction  ?  By  this  time, 
it  is  probable,  you  are  altogether  better,  dear  Mary. 
But,  whether  that  is  the  case  or  otherwise,  you  are 
resigning  yourself  and  enjoyments  into  the  hands  of 
a  kind  and  tender  Parent.  Your  health,  dear  Sir,  I 
hope,  did  not  suffer  any  injury  from  the  fatigues  and 
storms  to  which  your  duties  exposed  you.  Your  chil- 
dren are  well,  it  is  hoped.  This  weather  is  unfavour- 
able to  invalids, — for,  how  is  it  possible  they  should 
gain  health,  while  deprived  of  the  vital  and  life-giv- 
ing source  of  inhaling  hourly  the  fresh  air  ?  My  brother 
remains  in  a  critical  and  feeble  state.  But,  till  he  can 
journey,  we  can  form  no  decided  opinion.  Many  think 
he  will  not  recover.  If  the  cause  originates  in  the  at- 
tack he  had  two  or  three  years  since,  probably  he  will 
not.  This  between  ourselves.  It  is  painful  to  exhaust 
the  sympathy  of  one's  acquaintance,  or  to  disappoint 
them  of  something  new.  How  little  does  the  com- 
monplace regret  soothe  the  heart,  and  how  depres- 
sing the  run  of  constant  inquiry ! " 

My  grandmother  went  to  visit  and  nurse  her 
daughter  late  in  March,  but  became  so  ill  herself 
that  she  was  obliged  to  return  to  Concord.  Early  in 

[372] 


1811]  NEWBURYPORT 

April  hopes  were  revived  of  my  mother's  recovery. 
Miss  Mary  Emerson  wrote  to  my  father  and  mother: 

"April  13th,  1811. 

"My  dear  Friends, — You  are  afflicted  still.  But 
you  are  recovering,  Mary.  My  brother  recovers  no 
more.  God  is  taking  him  away,  and  blessed  be  His 
name!  How  much  better,  Oh,  infinitely  better  than 
to  outlive  his  mind,  his  exertions,  his  friends !  Should 
it  not  be  the  prayer  of  every  Christian  that  they  may 
not  survive  any  of  these,  but  especially  his  moral  im- 
provement? And,  unhappy  must  the  one  be  who  is 
so  wedded  to  life  as  to  lose  a  desire  to  depart  when 
their  improvements  stagnate.  But  I  feel  not  much 
of  these  great  things, — an  unaccountable  heaviness 
weighs  down  my  spirit, — pray  for  me  that  a  visita- 
tion so  painful  and  admonishing  may  be  improved. 
I  long  to  see  you;  do,  if  possible,  write." 

My  grandmother  made  my  mother  a  brief  visit 
late  in  April.  After  her  return  she  writes: 

"Concord,  April  25th,  1811. 
"After  much  rain  and  heavy  wind,  my  dear  chil- 
dren will  be  glad  we  reached  home  on  Monday.  Do 
not  think  it  unkind  I  did  not  stay  longer.  It  is  ab- 
solutely necessary  to  be  at  home." 

And  again: 

"Concord,  May  4th,  1811. 
"It  seems  a  little  age  since  I  left  you.  I  do  not 

[373] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isii 

feel  very  well,  and  every  sombre  shade  is  displayed. 
I  ever  remember  with  gratitude  the  mercies  shown 
in  restoring  you  to  your  friends,  and,  had  it  been 
best,  should  have  rejoiced  to  have  your  habitation 
nigher,  when  I  could  have  seen  you  and  yours  often, 
and  watched  the  progress  you  made  in  health  and 
strength.  Do  not,  for  a  moment,  doubt  I  would  sac- 
rifice my  own,  to  give  you  health  and  vigour." 

It  may  strike  some  of  my  grandmother's  de- 
scendants who  shall  read  these  pages  as  almost  un- 
natural on  her  part  that  she  should  have  left  my 
mother,  when  she  was  so  ill  and  her  life  so  near  its 
close,  to  the  care  of  "Aunt  Bromfield"  and  "Aunt 
Greenleaf,"  instead  of  giving  her  the  comfort  of  her 
own  presence.  But  those  who  knew  Dr.  Hurd  would 
understand  the  case.  The  arrangements  of  his  home, 
as  well  as  his  own  personal  exactions,  were  such  as 
not  only  compelled  her  presence  there,  but  also  made 
her  life  so  laborious  as  to  awaken  the  sympathy  of 
her  friends,  especially  of  her  husband's  brothers  and 
their  families,  by  whom  she  was  most  intimately 
known  and  most  warmly  beloved. 

My  grandmother  again  writes : 

''May  30th,  Election  Day. 

"They  are  well  as  usual  at  Mr.  Ripley's.  Mr.  Em- 
erson's death  was  truly  affecting,  but  they,  one  and 
all,  bear  it,  as  Christians  ought  to,  with  becoming 
fortitude  and  resignation. 

"When  I  shall  see  you  is  only  known  to  the  Su- 
[374] 


1811]  NEWBURYPORT 

preme  Being.  I  long  to  kiss  you  and  the  little  ones, 
and  sincerely  hope  you  will,  once  more,  realize  a 
portion  of  health.  Mr.  White,  I  fear,  will  not  have 
many  more  pleasant  companions  than  he  had  last 
year.  The  opposite  party  are  numerous,  they 

'Fill  every  rank,  in  each  profession  blend, 
Power  all  their  aim,  and  ruin  all  their  end.'" 

* 

The  following,  from  my  father,  who  was  again  in 
the  Senate  at  Boston,  is  the  last  letter  we  have  from 
him  addressed  to  my  mother. 

"Boston,  Friday  morn.,  May  31st,  1811. 
"My  dearest  Wife, — I  feel  an  inexpressible  solic- 
itude and  desire  to  be  with  you.  I  have  not  received 
a  line  from  home  since  I  have  been  here,  but  hope 
to  this  morning,  and  pray  that  it  may  bring  me  good 
tidings  about  you.  I  shall  endeavour  to  be  at  home 
this  evening,  if  I  can  find  a  passage  after  the  choice 
of  counsellors ;  if  not,  to-morrow.  I  hope  not  to  be 
under  the  necessity  of  being  here  many  days  to- 
gether, after  this  week.  All  I  can  now  do,  my  dear- 
est love,  is  to  commend  you  to  the  Father  of  all 
mercies.  Oh,  may  He  support,  comfort,  and  bless 
you  with  health! — is  the  constant  prayer  of 
Your  affectionate 

D.  A.  WHITE." 

Could  my  father  have  foreseen  the  events  of  that 
night,  no  business,  however  weighty  or  pressing, 
would  have  kept  him  from  his  home.  It  was  the 

[375] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isn 

night  of  the  great  Newburyport  fire  of  1811.  The 
record  in  the  Salem  Gazette  of  that  period  is  that 
"the  fire  broke  out  on  Friday,  May  31st,  at  half- 
past  nine  in  the  evening,  in  a  stable,  near  the  mar- 
ket. At  two  o'clock,  Saturday  morning,  the  fire  was 
raging  in  every  direction,  with  irresistible  fury.  About 
four,  the  danger  diminished,  and,  at  six,  the  fire  had, 
in  a  great  measure,  spent  its  fury.  The  number  of 
buildings  destroyed  was  about  two  hundred  and  fifty ; 
property  destroyed,  one  million.  No  life  was  lost. 
Seventy-six  families  were  deprived  of  their  homes. 
The  streets  ravaged  were  State,  Market  Square,  Me- 
chanics' Row,  Pleasant,  Middle,  Water,  Centre,  and 
Liberty  Streets."  My  father's  home  was  on  State 
Street. 

I  must  have  been  very  young  when  I  was  first 
told  the  story  of  the  fire,  for  I  can  hardly  look  back 
upon  the  time  when  my  mind  did  not  contain  a  pic- 
ture of  my  angelic  mother,  as,  according  to  the  rep- 
resentations given  me,  she  passed  unmoved  through 
that  night  of  terror.  My  dear  father  was  the  great- 
est sufferer.  What  language  can  depict  his  agony 
as  he  drove  from  Boston  to  Newburyport  the  next 
morning,  under  the  impression,  received  from  ex- 
aggerated accounts,  that  not  a  house  was  left  stand- 
ing in  State  Street.  He  could  never  speak  of  it  with- 
out emotion,  and  never  so  far  recovered  from  it  as 
to  be  able  to  hear  the  bell  rung  for  fire  without 
change  of  colour  and  evident  recurrence  to  the  pain- 
ful memory.  More  than  once,  under  such  circum- 

[376] 


1811]  NEWBURYPORT 

stances,  he  has  spoken  to  me  of  the  subject  in  his 
thoughts,  and  dwelt  upon  the  scene,  to  him  of  un- 
equalled sublimity,  which  my  mother's  chamber  pre- 
sented when,  on  his  arrival  at  home,  he  entered  it. 
"There  she  lay,"  he  said,  "just  as  I  had  left  her, — 
with  nothing  in  her  look  or  manner  to  remind  me 
that  anything  unusual  had  occurred." 

By  those  who  were  with  her  through  the  night,  I 
have  been  told  of  the  presence  of  mind,  calmness,  and 
self-control  with  which  she  quieted  those  around  her. 
Every  one  in  the  house,  and  others  who  came  in  to 
offer  their  aid,  were  agitated  by  distressing  appre- 
hension for  her.  Too  feeble  to  move  herself,  what 
should  they  do  for  her,  was  the  question.  To  move 
her  might  cost  her  her  life ;  yet,  if  she  remained  where 
she  was,  death  seemed  inevitable.  She  decided,  her- 
self, what  to  do.  She  said,  "I  will  stay  where  I  am 
until  the  flames  reach  the  next  house.  Meantime, have 
a  carriage  in  readiness  for  my  removal  when  that  shall 
occur."  The  fire  stopped  at  the  next  house,  and  she 
was  safe. 

Dear  Aunt  Smith  used  to  say,  "  Your  mother  was 
quite  calm,  and  told  us  just  how  to  pack  the  china, 
and  glass,  and  clothing  so  that  they  should  be  all 
ready  to  be  moved  when  the  time  came."  Cousin 
Fanny  Searle,  whose  mother  lived  in  State  Street, 
happened,  at  the  time  the  fire  occurred,  to  be  stay- 
ing at  Aunt  Becky's,  in  the  upper  part  of  the  town. 
So  great  was  her  anxiety  for  my  mother  that  she 
walked  alone,  a  mile  and  a  half  at  midnight,  passing 

[377] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isn 

by  her  own  mother's  house  to  go  to  her.  She  said 
she  was,  herself,  greatly  alarmed  and  agitated,  and 
she  described,  much  as  my  father  had  done,  the  con- 
trast presented  by  my  mother's  aspect  of  serenity  and 
peace.  My  mother's  cousin  Benjamin  F.  Gould  was 
staying  in  Newburyport  at  the  time.  He  went  im- 
mediately to  my  mother,  to  serve  her  in  any  way  he 
could.  He  has  often  told  me  that  he  should  never 
forget  my  mother's  appearance  that  night.  "She 
seemed  to  me,"  he  said,  "more  than  ever,  to  belong 
to  another  world,"  Doubtless,  she  had  then  let  go 
her  hold  on  this. 

The  noise  and  confusion  in  State  Street,  created 
by  preparations  for  rebuilding,  made  it  necessary  to 
remove  my  mother  to  a  more  quiet  part  of  the  town. 
It  is  to  this  removal  that  my  grandmother  refers  in 
the  following  letter: 

"Concord,  June  21st. 

"This  morning  we  received  your  letter,  my  dear 
son,  which  brings  such  intelligence  as  I  expected, 
that  Mary  would  suffer  after  the  fire,  from  the  fa- 
tigue, anxiety,  and  distress  that  must  surround  her. 
I  cannot  afford  you  any  assistance ;  my  heart  is  with 
you,  but  it  is  so  poor  an  one,  it  can  do  no  good.  I  am 
very  glad  you  have  moved,  and  hope  the  air  will  be 
salutary,  and  long  to  have  her  able  to  ride  here.  My 
love  to  her,  and,  if  I  could  fly  to  her,  would  run  any 
venture. 

"Your  Papa,  although  he  is  out  all  the  day,  has  a 
very  tedious  time  with  his  broken  rib.  It  has  not  yet 

[378] 


1811]  NEWBURYPORT 

perfectly  united, — he  has  not  dressed  or  undressed 
without  the  assistance  of  one,  and  often  two  of  us. 
He  could  not  rise  alone  if  we  were  surrounded  by 
fire.  He  has  now  five  hundred  under  his  care  in  vac- 
cination. We  shall  have  Isaac  and  his  family  with  us 
about  a  fortnight,  till  they  move  into  their  house." 

This  letter  from  my  grandmother  shows  how  lit- 
tle she  was  prepared  for  my  mother's  death,  which 
occurred  only  one  week  after  this  last  date.  While 
she  "had  faith  to  believe"  that  my  mother  "would 
enjoy  better  health,"  and  was  looking  forward  to  her 
being  "able  to  ride  to  Concord,"  "the  silver  cord  was 
loosed." 

My  father  thought  my  mother's  life  was  shortened 
by  the  fire,  and  the  removal  that  followed  it.  I  have 
no  record  from  his  pen  of  the  closing  scene.  He  often 
talked  to  my  sister  and  myself  of  the  faith  and  peace 
of  our  mother's  last  hours ;  and  among  my  earliest 
recollections  is  his  telling  us  that  he  read  to  her  the 
fourteenth  chapter  of  John  only  fifteen  minutes  be- 
fore she  ceased  to  breathe. 

Nearly  half  a  century  later,  the  only  words  spoken 
by  her  upon  her  death-bed,  which  were  written  down 
at  the  time,  came  to  us  like  a  voice  from  the  eternal 
world.  This  invaluable  record  was  made  by  my 
mother's  dear  friend,  Ann  Bromfield.  I  copy  it  as 
follows : 

'•'•June  28th,  1811.  Evening,  Friday.  Day  before 
yesterday,  the  26th  instant,  I  passed  some  hours  with 

[379] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isn 

my  precious  Mary  White.  This  almost  sainted  mor- 
tal is  now,  perhaps,  passing  the  '  dark  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  death.'  Perhaps,  the  silver  cord  is  broken, 
and  she  is  now  a  spirit  among  the  blessed, — wel- 
comed by  those  objects  of  affection  who  had  gone 
before,  and  on  wing  towards  the  vision  of  God  and 
of  the  Lamb.  Why  do  I  not  feel  greater  joy  at  this 
sublimely  cheering  thought,  why  not  glorify  the  Be- 
ing who  has  emancipated  her?  My  faith  is  weak,— 
not  so,  hers.  She  told  me  her  hopes  in  a  few  emphatic 
sentences,  the  last  time  I  sat  by  her. '  In  my  Father's 
house  are  many  mansions,' she  said,  with  distinctness ; 
and,  after  a  long  pause,  added: — 'I  am  thinking  of 
my  Saviour.  He  is  the  good  Shepherd,  and  I  am  His 
sick  lamb.  He  will  carry  me  in  His  bosom.'  After  a 
long  pause,  she  added,  that  she  had  always  thought 
that  passage  which  says, '  I  go  to  prepare  a  place  for 
you,'  and,  'not  for  you  only,  but  for  all  those  who, 
through  you,  shall  believe  on  my  name,'  worth  all  the 
rest  of  the  Bible.  I  could  mention  more,  but  my 
strength  fails  me. 

"I  pray,  Oh,  my  Heavenly  Father,  for  her,  her 
husband,  and  all  of  us,  that  this  communion  here  be- 
low, may  have  helped  to  fit  us  for  nearer  communion 
with  Thee. 

"30th,  Morning.  We  were  prevented  from  going 
to  meeting  this  morning,  by  the  carriage  disappoint- 
ing us,  and  I  shall  use  the  time  with  more  satisfac- 
tion to  myself  than  in  going  out.  Yesterday  morn- 
ing, at  half-past  seven,  my  beloved  friend  breathed 

[380] 


1811]  NEWBURYPORT 

her  last,  desirous  to  be  gone,  and  full  of  hope  and 
trust  in  her  blessed  Saviour.  I  have  lost,  in  her,  an 
invaluable  friend.  Her  strong,  and  vigorous,  and 
highly  cultivated  mind  was  a  resource  when  I  needed 
advice;  the  pure  and  animated  devotion  of  her  af- 
fectionate heart,  always  kindling  with  sympathy  — 
from  its  keen,  and  refined,  and  regulated  sensibility 
—  at  every  sorrow  of  its  beloved  objects,  was  my 
consolation  and  support.  It  has  pleased  the  infinitely 
wise  and  good  God,  in  the  course  of  six  months  and 
a  few  days,  to  deprive  me  of  two l  friends  who  were 
equally  distinguished  for  their  genius  and  piety.  Oh, 
that  the  warning  voice  may  not  be  sounded  in  vain ! " 

Twenty  years  after  making  the  record  quoted 
above,  this  dear  friend,  with  whom  my  mother's 
memory  seemed  always  fresh,  wrote  to  Mrs.  Curson 
as  follows,  of  a  religious  service  in  which  she  had 
been  greatly  interested:  "The  text  chosen  was  that 
beautiful  and  affecting  passage  which  my  beloved 
Mary  White  told  me,  only  a  few  hours  before  she 
passed  from  earth  to  heaven,  was  more  precious  to 
her  than  any  other: — 'I  pray  not  for  these  alone, — 
but  for  all  those  who,  through  them,  shall  believe 
on  my  word.'" 

This  passage  of  Scripture  has  been  associated  with 
my  mother  in  my  mind  all  my  life,  for  although  I 
learned  first  from  Miss  Bromfield's  journal  of  its  hav- 
ing been  upon  her  Lips  during  her  last  hours,  I  was 

1  Miss  Ann  Lowell  died  in  December,  1810. 

[381] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isn 

early  told  that  it  was  her  favourite.  Of  the  Epis- 
tles, that  to  the  Ephesians  was  her  preference. 

I  have  now  before  me  papers  left  by  my  mother's 
devoted  friend  Fanny  Searle,  marked  by  her, "  Writ- 
ten at  the  time  of  Mrs.  White's  death."  This  heart- 
felt tribute  of  affection  deserves  a  place  here. 

"Sunday,  June  30th,  1811.  Why  have  I  omitted 
to  write  so  long  when  I  have  had  so  many  subjects 
of  interest  ?  Why  have  I  not,  in  this  way,  aided  my 
memory  during  the  illness  of  my  dear  friend  ?  I  have 
witnessed  her  gradual  decay  till,  from  horror  at  the 
thought  of  her  death,  I  became  reconciled  to,  and 
even  wished  it.  I  have  listened  to  and  looked  at  her 
with  admiration  and  love,  yet  I  have  not  preserved, 
as  I  might,  the  recollection  of  all  she  has  said, — and 
when  shall  I  see  any  one  like  her? — never,  I  be- 
lieve, in  this  world.  Oh,  that  I  may  so  pass  through 
this  life  that  I  may  meet  her  in  a  future !  If  any  one 
is  fitted  on  earth  to  join  the  spirits  of  the  blessed, 
it  is  herself.  Her  piety,  her  purity,  her  delicacy,  re- 
finement, and  elevation  of  mind,  have  fitted  her  for 
a  far  more  perfect  and  exalted  state  of  being.  Through 
the  merits  of  her  Redeemer,  she  joyfully  committed 
herself  into  the  hands  of  her  Heavenly  Father.  How 
consoling  such  a  death ! " 

"July  llth. 

"Spirit  of  Resignation!  cheer  my  soul, 
And  teach  me  through  life's  pilgrimage  to  rove 
With  cheerfulness  and  animated  joy, 

[382] 


1811]  NEWBURYPORT 

Such  as  the  Christian,  social,  state  demands. 

Oh,  that  no  selfish,  no  excessive  grief, 

May  steel  my  heart  to  others'  joy  or  woe, 

Make  me  unmindful  of  remaining  good, 

Or  useless  to  my  friends !  May  the  vain  thought 

That  no  one,  now,  has  such  sweet  love  for  me, 

That  none  has  power  now  to  charm  like  her, 

Never  too  far  enthrall  and  hold  my  mind ! 

The  hour  of  solitude  alone  may  claim 

These  recollections,  these  dear  thoughts  of  thee. 

Then  may  I  think  thy  virtues  o'er  and  o'er, 

How  pure,  angelic,  and  heaven-taught  thy  mind, 

How  full  of  grace  and  loveliness  thy  life, 

How  every  look  and  action,  like  thyself 

With  winning  sweetness,  drew  our  hearts  to  thee ! 

Who,  like  thee,  in  the  bold  defence  of  truth, 

Feared  not  to  argue  in  its  sacred  cause, 

Convincing  the  gainsay er! — Who  like  thee, 

Still  timid  and  distrustful  of  thyself, 

When  no  such  cause  aroused  thee !  Who,  like  thee, 

So  meek,  yet  eloquent,  so  firm  though  mild, 

So  ardent  in  another's  interests, 

Yet,  in  thine  own  so  patient,  so  resigned ! 

No !  thine  ethereal  spirit  here  on  earth 

We  shall  not  see  again.  In  memory's  eye, 

May  thy  still  cherished  image  lead  us  on 

(Those  who  were  favoured  with  its  transient  view) 

To  emulate,  and,  distant,  follow  thee ! 

May  solitary  musings  on  thy  worth 

Fit  me  to  act  my  destined  part  on  earth, 

And  train  me  for  that  heaven  where  thou  art  gone ! 

Oh,  that  my  trials  here  may  end  in  that, 

A  blessed  union,  an  eternal  rest, 

Through  that  Redeemer  to  whose  saving  love 

Thou  didst  commend  thyself  and  slept  in  Him !  " 

[383] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

Some  years  since,  my  dear  friend,  Cousin  Sarah 
Searle,  who  was  specially  devoted  to  my  sister  and 
myself  when,  soon  after  our  mother's  death,  we  were 
under  her  mother's  roof,  at  my  request  sent  me  the 
following  recollections  of  my  mother. 

"You  ask  me  to  embody  in  language  my  recol- 
lections of  your  beautiful  mother,  and  I  will  try  to 
do  it.  I  was  a  timid  young  girl,  perhaps  twelve  years 
of  age,  when  she  came  to  reside  in  Newburyport. 
My  elder  sisters,  who  were  companions  of  your  fa- 
ther, were  very  glad  of  the  addition  to  their  society 
which  her  marriage  gave  them.  They  met  frequently, 
and  I  often  saw  them  together.  I  remember  dis- 
tinctly her  person  and  countenance,  their  extreme 
delicacy  and  refinement ;  only  a  thin  veil  of  the  spirit 
they  presented  to  the  eye,  conveying  a  sense  of  the 
most  gentle  dignity,  exciting  respect,  delight,  and 
love.  Her  voice  was  charming  to  me,  affecting  me 
like  sweet  and  tender  strains  of  music.  When  I  went 
of  errands  for  my  sisters  to  her  house,  she  would 
make  me  come  in,  and  sit  down  with  her,  and  she 
would  talk  with  me,  which  seemed  great  honour  con- 
ferred upon  me.  I  remember  her  saying  that  she 
thought  the  sense  of  smell  more  allied  to  the  spirit- 
ual than  the  other  senses.  She  was,  at  the  time,  offer- 
ing me  a  honeysuckle  from  a  vine  which  grew  at  her 
door.  She  spoke  to  me  of  Rogers'  'Pleasures  of  Mem- 
ory,'and  read  to  me  some  extracts  she  had  taken  from 
it.  She  tried  to  elicit  and  feed  any  love  of  the  beau- 

[384] 


1811]  NEWBURYPORT 

tiful  she  might  find  in  me.  She  seemed  to  me  like 
my  then  idea  of  an  angelic  being." 

Margaret  Searle  wrote  at  that  time  to  her  cousin, 
Mrs.  Edmund  Dwight,  as  follows: 

"  I  cannot  speak  of  Mrs.  White  as  I  ought.  I  have 
ever  thought  her  as  much  like  an  angel  as  any  spirit 
clothed  in  flesh  could  be." 


These  memorials  of  my  mother,  written  when  her 
presence  was  but  just  withdrawn,  by  those  who  were 
with  her  during  her  life  on  earth,  are  of  great  value. 

The  following  notice  of  my  mother  was  written 
for  the  "  Port-Folio,"  a  magazine  of  that  period,  and 
appeared  in  the  Newburyport  newspaper  on  the  day 
of  her  burial.  I  have  never  been  told  by  whom  it  was 
written. 

"OBITUARY  FOR  THE  'PORT-FOLIO' 

"Died  in  Newburyport,  Mrs.  Mary  White,  wife 
of  the  Honble  Daniel  Appleton  White,  aged  30  years. 

'"Oh,  't  is  well  with  her, 

But  who  knows  what  the  coining  hour, 
Veiled  in  thick  darkness,  brings  to  us.' 

"  It  is  the  solace  and  support  of  Christians,  amid 
the  gloom  and  the  depravities  of  life,  that  their  Divine 
Master  has,  indeed,  never  left  Himself  without  a  wit- 
ness. His  blessed  promise,  'Lo,  I  am  with  you  al- 

[385] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

way,'  is  never  forgotten ;  and  some  pure  and  spotless 
spirit  has  still  been  permitted  to  hover  on  earth,  to 
remind  us  of  our  relation  to  Heaven,  to  instruct  us 
by  its  virtues  how  to  act,  to  teach  us,  by  its  sorrows, 
how  we  should  suffer,  and,  at  length,  entwining  round 
our  hearts  the  golden  and  silken  cords  of  piety  and 
love,  to  draw  us,  in  the  still  'lingering  light  of  its 
upward  track,'  to  its  own  blissful  mansions  of  virtue 
and  repose! 

"When  such  an  one  goes  before  us,  it  is  impos- 
sible to  speak  what  we  feel;  to  describe  our  own 
sense  of  the  loss,  or  to  give  others  an  idea  of  its 
poignancy.  Yet  is  it  proper  and  fit,  that  those  who 
loved  Mrs.  White  as  fondly  as  ourselves,  should  share 
our  sympathy;  and  that  those  who  knew  her  not 
should  be  told  of  the  inspired  talents,  the  refined 
and  trembling  sensibility,  the  mild,  silent,  and  ele- 
vated virtues  which  bless  and  embalm  her  memory. 

"A  mind  of  brilliant  and  commanding  genius 
united  its  expression  in  her  features  with  that  of 
feelings  ardent,  chastened,  and  sublime.  Her  coun- 
tenance, indeed,  discovered  something  so  unobtru- 
sively interesting,  so  unearthly,  so  spiritual,  that  we 
could  only  regard  it  as  an  image  of  the  impress  of 
God  on  the  soul,  when  it  first  came  forth  on  the 
morning  of  creation,  lovely,  meek,  and  amiable,  from 
the  hands  of  its  Maker.  Her  society  and  her  writings 
breathed  the  purest  spirit  of  piety,  of  benevolence, 
and  religion.  These,  indeed,  were  her  Muses.  They 
inspired  her  conversation  as  they  animated  her  life; 

[386] 


1811]  NEWBURYPORT 

and  she  never  approached  the  sacred  ground  on 
which  they  dwelt,  without  an  expansion  of  mind, 
and  an  elevation  of  language.  I  knew  her  once  when 
her  spirit  was  buoyant  as  the  breath  of  summer,  joy- 
ous, animated,  and  sportive  as  the  visions  of  youth- 
ful fancy;  when  light  and  happiness  were  scattered 
in  her  path;  when  she  appeared  only  to  cheer,  to 
console,  and  to  bless ;  when  her  life  was  a  constant 
scene  of  active  usefulness;  when  her  gentle  spirit 
flew  out  to  meet  the  mourner,  and  her  'bountiful 
hand  scattered  food  to  the  hungry,  and  raiment  to 
the  naked.'  I  knew  her,  too,  when,  as  if  to  show 
that  the  heart  is  sometimes  permitted,  even  here, 
to  shine  forth  in  all  its  moral  sublimity  and  grandeur, 
the  hand  of  God  was  laid  heavily  upon  her,  and  her 
languishing  body  seemed  sinking  to  earth,  as  it  wrere 
to  exhibit,  in  broader  and  fairer  light,  the  purged 
sanctity  of  her  soaring  and  celestial  spirit.  Her  eyes, 
beaming  with  that  hallowed  splendour  which  some- 
times irradiates  them  before  they  are  to  close  for- 
ever, seemed  fixed  on  the  smiles  of  her  Saviour,  and 
her  soul  bending  before  the  footstool  of  her  God. 
One  would  almost  have  thought  her  shadowy  form 
that  'incorruptible  body  which  is  destined  to  be  the 
soul's  last  covering.' 

"May  that  gracious  Being  who  is  the  Wisdom  of 
God,  and  the  Power  of  God,  who  was  Himself  once 
on  earth  to  bear  our  sorrows,  and  expiate  our  sins, 
support  the  heart-broken  mourners  under  the  dispen- 
sation which  has  taken  her  to  Himself.  May  He  bind 

[387] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE  [isu 

up  where  He  has  bruised,  may  He  heal  where  He 
has  smitten,  and  pour  balm  where  He  has  wounded ! 

'  Oh,  from  her  sorrows  may  we  learn  to  live, 
Oh,  from  her  triumphs  may  we  learn  to  die!'" 

My  mother's  grave  is  in  the  Newburyport  Cem- 
etery. On  her  gravestone  are  inscribed  the  follow- 
ing words: 

"The  charm  of  genius,  taste,  tenderness, 
And  sweetest  piety, — all  was  thine." 

I  find  this  inscription  written  on  a  page  in  my 
father's  handwriting  of  that  period,  followed  by  lines 
which  are  so  appropriate  that  I  copy  them  here. 

"Farewell,  pure  spirit!  Vain  the  praise  we  give, — 

The  praise  you  sought  from  lips  angelic  flows; 
Farewell!  the  virtues  which  deserve  to  live 
Deserve  an  ampler  bliss  than  life  bestows." 

"Each  pensive  hour  shall  thee  restore, 

For  thee  the  tear  be  duly  shed ; 
Beloved  till  life  can  charm  no  more, 
And  mourned  till  pity's  self  be  dead.' 

My  mother's  many  friends  mourned,  as  long  as 
they  lived,  her  early  departure.  To  my  grandmother, 
that  event  "left  a  void  in  the  affections  which  could 
only  be  filled  by  reunion  with  her  in  another  world." 
Mrs.  Rapallo,  in  writing  to  me,  says:  "I  saw  your 
grandmother  only  once  after  your  mother's  death. 
She  was  at  your  father's  in  Newburyport.  She  had 

[388] 


.    1811]  NEWBURYPORT 

long  been  accustomed  to  sorrow.  She  seemed  calm 
and  tranquil.  She  said  the  last  tie  that  bound  her  to 
earth  was  now  broken,  and  she  had  only  to  wait." 
Ten  years  she  waited, — her  days  a  fulfilment  of  Fa- 
ber's  prayer: 

"O  Lord!  that  I  could  waste  my  life  for  others, 

With  no  ends  of  my  own ! " 

-. 

She  died  November  26th,  1821,  aged  seventy-one 
years.  She  knew  "  labour  and  sorrow,"  but,  with  her 
firm  religious  belief,  "earthly  care  was  heavenly 
discipline,"  and  "chastening,"  however  "grievous," 
yielded,  at  once,  "the  peaceable  fruits  of  righteous- 
ness." Thus  was  a  life  ennobled  which,  in  many  of 
its  details,  seemed  to  her  friends  unsuited  to  one  of 
her  refined  and  intellectual  tastes. 

I  now  close  this  record,  as  I  began  it,  with  the  feel- 
ing that  her  memory,  and  that  of  her  gifted  daugh- 
ter, deserve  to  be  held  in  affectionate  reverence  by 
their  descendants  to  the  latest  generation. 

[389] 


APPENDIX 

THE  WILDER  GENEALOGY 

DR.  JOSIAH  WILDER  was  fourth  in  descent  from  Thomas 
Wilder,  who  came  from  England  in  1638,  and  settled  first 
in  Hingham,  Massachusetts,  where  he  was  made  freeman  in  1641, 
was  living  in  Charlestown  in  1651,  removed  to  Lancaster,  Mas- 
sachusetts, in  1654,  and  died  in  1667.  He  had  three  sons,  Thomas, 
John,  and  Nathaniel.  His  son  Thomas  was  born  in  1644,  and  died 
in  1717.  He  married  Mary  Houghton,  June  20,  1668.  His  oldest 
child,  as  far  as  known,  was  born  in  1680.  It  is  not  improbable 
that  he  lost  children  in  the  Indian  massacres ;  the  troublous  times 
prevented  the  preservation  of  town  records  until  the  beginning 
of  the  next  century.  Very  little  is  known  of  him  during  or  after 
the  war.  There  are  indications  that  he  fortified  his  house,  and 
made  it  a  place  of  protection  from  the  Indians  for  other  families. 
He  had  two  sons,  James  and  Joseph.  The  former,  Colonel  James 
Wilder,  married  Abigail  Gardner,  daughter  of  Andrew  Gardner, 
Esq.,  of  Lancaster,  October  20,  1709,  and  died  in  1739.  He  had 
two  sons,  James  and  Gardner.  James  (also  a  colonel)  was  born  in 
1711,  married  Martha  Broughton,  and  died  in  1 774.  He  had  three 
sons,  James,  Josiah,  and  Asaph,  and  a  daughter,  who  married 
Dr.  Prescott,  of  Keene.  Josiah,  born  in  1744,  married  Mary,  or 
Polly,  Flagg,  August  28, 1 774,  and  was  the  father  of  Mary  Wilder. 

THE  FLAGG  GENEALOGY 

IN  the  "History  of  Augusta,  Maine,"  by  Hon.  James  W.  North, 
a  genealogy  of  the  Flagg  family  is  given,  from  which  the  fol- 
lowing details  are  taken.  The  name  was  spelled  Flegg  in  Eng- 
land, and  for  eighty  years  after  they  came  to  America. 

The  earliest  English  ancestor  who  is  known  with  certainty, 
William  Flegg,  died  in  1426.  His  son  Thomas,  who  died  in  1471, 
had  a  son  William  Flegg,  of  Swafield,  Norfolk  County,  who  was 

[391] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

living  in  1521 ;  he  had  a  son  Richard,  of  Shipdham,  whose  will 
was  proved  in  1587.  Richard's  son  John,  of  Whinbergh  and  Ed- 
ling's  Close  in  Yaxham,  died  in  1617,  and  his  will  was  proved  in 
Norwich.  His  son  Bartholomew,  of  Whinbergh  andShipdham,  Nor- 
folk County,  had  a  son  Thomas,  baptized  at  Whinbergh  in  1615, 
who  came  to  America  in  1637  with  Richard  Carver,  on  the  Rose, 
or  the  John  and  Dorothy,  and  settled  at  Watertown,  Massachu- 
setts. He  is  said  to  have  come  from  Scratby,  in  the  Hundred  of 
East  Flegg,  Norfolk  County.  His  son,  Lieutenant  Gershom  Flagg, 
was  born  April  6,  1641,  lived  in  Woburn,  and  married  Hannah 
Leppingwell,  or  Lepenwell,  April  5,  1668.  He  was  killed  by  In- 
dians at  Lamprey  River,  July  6,  1690.  His  third  son,  John,  was 
born  May  27,  1673.  He  married  Abiah  Kornic,  and  died  in  1732. 
In  1717  he  owned  an  estate  on  Hanover  Street,  Boston,  where 
the  American  House  now  stands,  which  he  bequeathed  to  his  son 
Gershom,  who  was  born  in  1 705,  and  married  Hannah  Pitson  in 
1 737.  (She  was  the  daughter  of  James  and  Hannah  Pitson,  was 
bom  in  1711  in  England,  and  came  to  this  country  with  her  par- 
ents in  1714.  There  were  Pitsons  in  Guilford,  County  Surrey,  and 
they  may  have  come  from  that  town.  James  Pitson,  born  in  1683, 
died  April  10,  1739.  His  wife,  born  in  1688,  died  February  28, 
1749.  They  were  buried  in  the  old  Granary  Burying-ground.) 
Gershom  and  Hannah  Flagg  had  seven  children,  of  whom  Mary, 
or  Polly,  was  the  sixth.  She  married  Dr.  Josiah  Wilder  in  1774, 
and  their  daughter  Mary,  born  in  1780,  married  Daniel  Appleton 
White,  May  24,  1807. 

THE  WHITE  GENEALOGY 

DANIEL  APPLETON  WHITE  was  bora  in  Methuen,  Mas- 
sachusetts, June  7, 1 776,  and  died  in  Salem,  March  30, 1 86 1. 
His  ancestor,  William  White,  born  in  1610,  came  to  this  country 
from  Haverhill,  Norfolk  County,  England,  in  1635.  He  settled 
first  in  Ipswich,  then  in  Newbury,  and  finally  in  Haverhill,  all 
in  Massachusetts,  and  died  September  28,  1690.  John  White,  his 
only  son,  married  Hannah  French,  of  Salem,  November  25, 1662, 

[392] 


APPENDIX 

and  died  in  1668,  at  the  age  of  twenty-nine  years.  His  only  son, 
Captain  John  White,  was  born  in  1663-4.  He  married  Lydia  Oil- 
man, of  Exeter,  New  Hampshire,  October  26,  1687,  and  died 
November  20,  1727.  He  had  fourteen  children,  one  of  whom, 
Timothy,  graduated  at  Harvard  College  in  1720.  His  fourth  child, 
Deacon  William  White  (also  a  captain),  was  born  January  18, 
1693-4;  he  married  in  Boston,  June  12,  1716,  Sarah,  daughter 
of  Samuel  and  Mary  (Emerson)  Phillips,  of  Salem,  and  great- 
granddaughter  of  Rev.  George  Phillips,  of  Watertown ;  he  died 
December  1 1, 1737.  His  son  John  was  born  February  7, 1719-20; 
he  removed  to  Methuen  about  1772,  where  he  had  a  farm  of 
three  hundred  acres,  between  the  Spicket  and  Merrimac  rivers, 
now  in  the  centre  of  the  city  of  Lawrence,  and  died  July  11, 
1800.  He  was  twice  married:  first  to  Mrs.  Miriam  Hazen,  by 
whom  he  had  six  children ;  and  on  February  1 8,  1 767,  to  Eliza- 
beth Haynes,  herself  one  of  a  family  of  twenty-one  children.  She 
had  eleven  children,  of  whom  Daniel  was  the  fifth. 

Five  of  his  ancestors,  Samuel  Appleton,  Thomas  Emerson,  Ed- 
ward Oilman,  Samuel  Symonds,  and  William  White,  were  among 
the  first  settlers  of  Ipswich. 


LIST  OF  BOOKS  FOUND  AMONG  THE  PAPERS  OF  THE 
SUBJECT  OF  THIS  MEMORIAL 

SHERLOCK, — Enlightens  and  convinces  the  reason.  Massil- 
lon, —  Penetrates  the  heart,  and  elevates  the  affections.  S. 
Clarke, — Elucidates  the  obscurities  of  Scripture.  Fenelon's  dem- 
onstration of  the  existence  and  attributes  of  God  delightfully  sat- 
isfactory to  the  reason  and  the  heart.  His  reflexions  useful  to 
every  Christian.  Witherspoon,  Watson,  Wilberforce,  Fuller,  Watts, 
Baxter,  Doddridge,  Necker,  Lyttelton,  Miss  More,  Mrs.  Cha- 
pone,  Gisborne,  Mrs.  Rowe,  Paley,  Johnson,  Blair,  Hervey,  Bar- 
bauld,  Clarke,  Gilpin's  "Exposition,"  Pascal's  "Thoughts,"  Sau- 
rin,  Mason.  Two  treatises  on  the  Sacrament  of  the  Supper,  "  The 
Practice  of  Piety,"  John  Newton's  Letters,  miscellaneous  ser- 

[393] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 

mons,  and  small  tracts  of  divinity,  Fordyce,  Wilkes,  "The  Gos- 
pel Its  Own  Witness,"  Francis  Xavier,  Hunter's  "Sacred  Biog- 
raphy," in  part. 

Millot's  "Elements  of  General  History,"  Robertson's  "History 
of  Charles  Fifth,"  Hume's  "  History  of  England,"  in  part,  Gold- 
smith's "History  of  England,"  " Peter  the  Great,"  "Charles 
Twelfth,"  by  Voltaire,  Echard's  "Roman  History,"  "History  of 
France,"  H.  Adams'  "  History  of  New  England,"  Hutchinson's 
"History  of  Massachusetts,"  Robertson's  "History  of  South 
America,"  "American  Revolution." 

Moore's  "Travels  through  France,  Germany,  etc.,"  Brydone's 
"Travels  in  Sicily  and  Malta,"  Smollett's  "Travels  through  France 
and  Italy,"  Montagu's  "Travels  in  the  East,"  Bruce's  "Travels 
in  Africa,"  Denon's  "Travels  in  Egypt,"  Mariette's  " Travels 
through  Syria  and  Palestine,"  Moritz'  "Travels  through  England 
and  Wales,"  Akenside's  "Tour  to  the  Lakes,"  Ratcliffe's  Travels, 
Brissot's  "Travels  through  America,"  Cook's  Voyages,  La  Pe- 
rouse's  Voyages. 

"Rambler,"  "Spectator,"  "Guardian,"  "Tatler,"  "Idler," 
"Lounger,"  "Mirror,"  "Adventurer,"  "World." 

Buffon's  "Natural  History,  Abridged,"  Goldsmith's  "Animated 
Nature,"  in  part,  Steele's  Works,  Cicero's  Orations  and  Epistles, 
Pliny's  Epistles,  Mrs.  Barbauld's  Poems  and  Hymns,  Miss  Sew- 
ard's  Poems,  Ossian,  Johnson's  Poems  on  various  subjects,  Prior's 
Poems,  etc.,  Dryden's  Poems,  Armstrong,  Somerville,  Milton's 
"Paradise  Lost"  and  "Paradise  Regained,"  "Comus,"  " Samson," 
and  smaller  poems,  Shakespeare's  Plays,  Young's  "  Night 
Thoughts,"  Tragedies,  and  Poems,  Pope's  Works,  Thomson's 
"Seasons"  and  Tragedies,  Cowper's  "Task,"  Poems,  and  Letters. 

In  French, — Voltaire's  and  Racine's  Tragedies,  Boileau's  Sat- 
ires, Moliere's  Plays,  Helvetius'  Poems  and  Epistles,  Poems  of 
De  Lisle,  Works  of  Florian,  Fenelon's  "Telemaque"  and  Dia- 
logues, etc.,  Rousseau's  "Emilius,"  and  "Eloisa"  (also  in  English), 
Works  of  Madame  de  Genlis  (also  in  English),  Saint- Pierre. 

Akenside's  "Pleasures  of  Imagination,"  Rogers'  "Pleasures  of 

[394] 


APPENDIX 

Memory/'  Campbell's  "Pleasures  of  Hope,"  Merry's  "Pains  of 
Memory/'  the  Works  of  Addison,  Knox,  Gray,  and  Swift,  the 
Poems  of  Churchill,  Chatterton,  Collins,  Cowley,  and  Spenser. 

This  list  is  evidently  incomplete,  no  English  novels  or  biographies  be- 
ing included  in  it,  but  is  of  interest  as  showing,  to  some  extent,  what 
books  were  accessible  to  women  at  that  period,  and  read  by  them.  Miss 
Austen's  and  Sir  Walter  Scott's  novels  were  not  published  till  after  her 
death. 

[395] 


INDEX 


AFFECTION,  fraternal,  107,  209 
Amazons,  women  neither  babies 

nor,  123 

Ames,  Fisher,  death  of,  325 
Andre,  quotation  from,  183 
Angels,  guardian,  doctrine  of, 

172 
Anthology,  the  Monthly,  186; 

contributions    to,    187-191; 

references  to,  254,  256 
Arminius,  doctrines  of,  1 69, 170 
Army,  English,  in  Egypt,  162 
Ashmun,  Mr.,  353,  356,   358, 

359,  362 
Atherton,  Salla,  73,  125,  153, 

154,  181;  letter  to,  74 
Atkins,  Becky,  314,  315,  317, 

318,  377 
Atkins,  Madam,  312,  314,  315, 

317,  318 
Augusta,    North's    History  of, 

246,  391 
Augustine,  St.,  quotation  from, 

156 

Authoress,  difficulties  of,  203 
Autumn,  beauty  of,   127,  197, 

199 

BAINBRIDGE,  battle  of,  87 
Balls,  25,  161,  193,  341 
Bancroft,  Dr.,  20 


Barbary,  powers  of,  42 

Barbauld,  Mrs.,  Life  of  Richard- 
son by,  211 

Basset,  Captain,  47 

Beattie,  Life  of,  318 

Belisarius,  song  about,  19 

Bermudas,  dangerous,  47 

Bernard,  style  of  acting  of,  1 63 

Bethlehem,  Penn.  (see  Moravi- 
ans, the),  97,  152,  210,  269 

Bible,  value  of  the,  174,  175 

Bidwell,  Mr.,  347 

Bigelow,  Eliza,  letter  to,  24 

Bigelow,  Mrs.  Elizabeth,  6,  35 

Bigelow,  Dr.  Jacob,  6,  23,  24, 
35,  36,  363,  364 

Bigelow,  Rev.  Jacob,  6 

Blanchet,  Dureste,  26,  27; 
letters  from,  36,  37;  letters 
to,  32,  33 

Blanchet,  M.,  87 

Boisaubin,  Baron  Van  Schalk- 
wyck  de,  27;  letter  from,  28 

B — te,  Empress,  347 

Bonaparte,  Napoleon,  213 

Bonnet,  book  by,  214 

Bonnet,  a  green,  346 

Books,  list  of,  393 

Boswell,  347 

Botany,  religious  influence  of, 
189 


[397] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 


Boyd,  Mark,  "Reminiscences"       Channing,  Rev.  William  Ellery, 


of,  96 


182,  218,  347,  355,  357,  359 


Bromfield,  Ann,  description  of,  Charity,  woman's  duty  concern- 
98,   99;   letter    from,    312;          ing,  231 

letters    to,    100,    124,    127,  Chapone,  Mrs.,  letters  of,  14 

138,  143,  146,  147,  148,  l6l,  Cheverus,  M.  De,  38,  39 

164,  176,  179,  196, 199,  208,  Choate,  Captain,  70,  79,  81 

21 1,  218,  219,  225,  233,  235,  Chocolate,  bring,  357 

248,  256,  262,  297,  343,  346 ;  Church,  Chauncy  Place,  1 1 5 

mention   of,    195,  311;  ac-  Church,  First,  1 1 5 

count   of  Mrs.  White's  last  Church,  ruins  of,  in  Guadeloupe, 


hours,  379-381 


91 


Bromfield,  Henry,  house  of,  7,  Clark,  Samuel,  letter  to,  52 

98  Coaster,  send  furniture  by,  306, 
Bromfield,  John,  100  308,  310 

Bromfield,  Mrs.  John,  99,  147,  Company,  the  Plymouth,  7 


311,  374 
Brooks,  Mr.,  364 
Bruce,  poem  by,  233 


Communion,  Holy,    123,    150, 

178,  217,  302,  305 
Conversation,  value  of,  145 


Buckminster,  Rev.  Joseph  Ste-      Cooke,  George  Frederick,  act- 


vens,  200,  201 
Burrell,  Miss,  20 


ing  of,  352,  355,  356,  357 
Cooper,  acting  of,  212,  220 


Burying-ground,  old    Granary,      Correspondence,  advantages  of, 


7,392 


CALLENDER,  Lydia,  5 
Calvin,  John,  doctrines  of,  169 
Campbell,  "Travels"  by,  217 
Centinel,    the   Columbian,   39, 

83,  84,  311 
Chad  wick,  Captain,  75 


134,   165,    183;   with  men, 

109,  149 
Courcelle,  Madame  Sophie,  44, 

62,   65,   68,   72,   91  5    letter 

from,  39 
Courcelle,  M.,  38,  40,  41,  44, 

46,  50,  61,  62,  63,  65,  66, 

68,  70,  71 
Coutoute,  Mile.,  62,  68,  91 


Channing,    Francis,    182,  230,      Cowper,  Wm.,  on  his  mother's 


231 
Channing,  Miss,  206 


picture,  1 39 ;  on  winter,  1 60 ; 
175;  Life  of,  191 


[398] 


INDEX 


Criticism,  Kames'  essay  on,  1 22      EGYPT,  Denon's  tour  in  Upper, 
Cruiselly,  Madame,  50 
Curson,     Mrs.     Margaret    (see 

Searle,  Margaret),  317,  318, 

381 ;  letters  from,  318,  319, 

324,  385 


DANA,    Mr.  S.,  in   procession, 

323 
Dancing,  modern,   agility    not 

grace,  341 
Darwin,  Dr.  Erasmus,  poem  of, 

225 

Dead,  prayer  for  the,  170 
Death,  on,  100,  101,  102,  11 6, 

117,126,169,187,188,191, 

192,  235,  237,  241,  255 
Delgres,  mulatto  leader,  85,  87 
Democrats,  the,  322,  344,  345, 

347,  352,  353,  356,  362,  363 
Denon,  tour  in  Egypt  by,  162 
Desbordes-Valmore,  Madame, 

95 
Desert,  passage  of  English  army 

over,  162 

Dexter,  Mr.,  177,  325 
Drew,  philosophy  of,  223 
Driving,  on  the  art  of,  126 
Duties,  Gisborne's  Female,  1 22 
Dutton,  Mr.,  367 
Dwight,     Mrs.     Edmund    (see 

Eliot,    M.     H.),    317,    334; 

letters  to,  318,  324,  332,  385 
Dwight,  Mary  (see  Howard, 

Mrs.  John),  358 


162 

Eliot,  Eliza  (see  Guild,  Mrs. 
Eliza),  358 

Eliot,  Mary  Harrison  (see 
Dwight,  Mrs.  Edmund),  317, 
334;  letters  to,  318,  324, 
332,  385 

Eliot,  Mrs.  Samuel,  313,  334, 
357 

Elm,  a  golden,  219 

Embargo,  Guadeloupe,  5 1 ; 
Massachusetts,  326 

Emerson,  Charles,  118 

Emerson,  Mary  Moody,  de- 
scription of,  113;  mention  of, 
112,  113,  165,  186,208,209, 
21 1,  212,  232,  242,  243,  244, 
245,  249,  258,  262,  269,  274, 
278,  356,  366,  369,  371; 
sketch  of  life,  114-117;  says 
of  herself,  117;  letters  from, 
245,  279,  372,  373 ;  letters 
to,  120,  128,  158,  223 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo,  114, 
115,  117 

Emerson,  Rev.  William,  114, 
1 85,  1 86,  356,  371, 372, 373, 
374;  letter  to,  186 

England,  anticipated  war  with, 
338 

England,  Goldsmith's  History 
of,  172 

England,  Moritz'  Travels 
through,  179 


[399] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 


"Estelle,"  Florian's,  135 
Eugenia,  signature  of,  121 
Euler,  the  ideas  of,  213 


,  James,   5;   portrait  of, 


320 


Flagg,    Mary    or    Polly     (see 

Kurd,  Mrs.  Polly) 
Florian,  works  of,  1  35,  1  36 
FAITH,  on,  232,  245,  256,  257,      Foote,  Mrs.  Mary  Wilder  (see 


277,  286,  329,  331 
FalstafF,  Cooke  acting,  356 
Farnham,  Louisa,  263 
Farnham,  Mrs.,  237,  238,  242, 
243,  244,  255,  256,  263,  281, 
292 

Farrar,  Mr.,  283 
Fashion,  follies  of,  136 
Fast-day,  writing  on,  295 
Fay,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  365 
Federalists,  the,  352,  353,  358 
Feke,  Robert,  portraits  by,  8 
Fenelon,  201 ;  quotation  from, 

371 

Fever,  yellow,  53,  67,  95,  96 
Fires,    incendiary,    in    Guade- 
loupe, 86,  90,  91 
Fire,   the    Newburyport,   376- 

378 

Fisher,  Dr.,  275 
Flagg,  Elizabeth  (see  Bigelow, 

Mrs.  Elizabeth),  6,  35 
Flagg,  Gershom,  7,  8,  36;  por- 
trait of,  320 

Flagg,  Grizzel  Apthorp  (see 
Gould,  Mrs.  G.  A.  F.),  2,  6, 
7,  347;  letters  from,  2,  10 


White,  Mary  W.),  57,  153, 

349,  354 

Foote,  Rev.  Henry  Wilder,  57 
Fortune,  on  a  friend's  accession 

of,  224 
France,  troops  from,  expected, 

63 ;  arrived,  69,  76 
French,  traits  of  the,  72,  75,  76, 

77,  214 
French,  translations  from  the, 

121 
Friend,  defence  of  an  absent, 

131 
Friends,  reunion  of,  171,  176, 

216,  268 
Friendship,  on,   120,  129,  130, 

132,  153,  171, 176,  192,248 
Frink,  Isabella  (see  White,  Mrs. 

Hazen),  354 
Frisbie,    Professor    Levi,   103- 

106,  145,  146,  222,  226,228, 

232,  268;  character  of,  104- 

106;  letter  from,  269;  letter 

to,  106 

GARDEN,  the  Atkins,  3 1 4,  3 1 7, 
319 


Flagg,  Hannah  (Pitson),  8,  9,      Gazette,  the  Salem,  376 


10;  letter  from,  9 


Genealogy,  Flagg,  391 
[400] 


INDEX 


Genealogy,  White,  392 
Genealogy,  Wilder,  391 
Generosity,  mistaken,  137 
Gessner,  Salomon,  133 
Gift,  the  Mother's,  14 
Gisborne,  "Female  Duties"  by, 

122 

Godwin,  the  novelist,  122 
Goldsmith,  History  by,  1 72 
Gore,  Mr.,  267,  364 
Gorham,  Mrs.  Susan  C.  L.  (see 

Lowell,  Susan  Cabot) 
Gorham,  Mr.,  367 
Gospel,  St.  John's,   171,   172, 

173,  174 

Gould,  Captain  Benjamin,  6 
Gould,  Benjamin  Apthorp,    6, 

378 

Gould,  E.,  visit  from,  1 85 
Gould,    Mrs.   Grizzel  Apthorp 

Flagg,  2,  6,  7,  347 ;  letters 

from,  2,  10 

Gould,  Hannah  Flagg,  7, 
Governor,  speech  of,  358 
Grammar,  Martin's  Philosophi- 
cal, 217 
Grant,  Mrs.  Anne  (of  Laggan), 

334,  339 

Greenleaf,  Colonel,  328 
Greenleaf,  Mrs.,  328,  374 
Guadeloupe,  29 ;  voyage  to,  45- 

49;  insurrection,  45,  50-52; 

plot  of  negroes,  62,  63,  64; 

struggles    between    French 

troops  and  negroes,   85-87; 


return  from,  94,  97 ;  Histoire 
de,  50,  87 

Guild,   Mrs.   Eliza  (see   Eliot, 
Eliza),  358 

H.,  Miss,  148 
Hamlet,  Cooper  as,  220 
Happiness,  rare  but  wholesome, 

279 
Harrington,  Rev.  Mr.,  baptized 

by,  13 
Harris,  Rev.  Thaddeus   Mason, 

151 

Hawthorne,  Nathaniel,  125 
Hayley,  Life  of  Cowper  by,  191 
Health,  value  of,  142,  273,  295 
Helvetius,  171,  183 
Higginson,  Miss,  168 
Hill,  Elm,  73,  126,  159 
Hoar,  Elizabeth,  108,  1 12,  1 14, 

118 

Hoar,  Samuel,  108,  220,  225 
Holidays,  nature's  three,  340 
Holland,  Captain,  92 
Hospital,  a  Boston,  365 
Hospital,  Val  de  Grace,  95 
Hotel,  Byfield,  360 
Hotel,  Topsfield,  361 
House-furnishing,    298,     299, 

309 

House,  State  or  Province,  365 
Howard,      Mrs.      John      (see 

Dwight,  Mary),  358 
Howard,  Rev.  Dr.,  112 
Hurd,  Benjamin,  1 7,  233,  235  ; 


[401] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 


illness,  248,  249;  death,  252, 
255-257 ;  letters  to,  213,  215 

Hurd,  Betsy,  16;  illness,  229- 
234;  death,  234-237 

Kurd,  Grace,  171,  247;  letter 
to,  101 

Hurd,  Dr.  Isaac,  15,  17,  18, 
36,  97,  159,  208,  240,  288, 
374,  378 

Hurd,  Isaac,  17,  34,  36,  46,  82, 
348 

Hurd,  Jno.,  310 

Hurd,  Joseph,  1 8 

Hurd,  Joseph,  305 

Hurd,  Mrs.  Polly,  birth,  5, 
youth,  1 1 ;  poems  by,  11-13; 
marriage  to  Dr.  Wilder,  1 ; 
children,  1 ;  marriage  to  Dr. 
Hurd,  15;  character,  2,  15- 
18,  335;  prayer  by,  157; 
death  of,  389;  letters  from, 
13,  79,  159,  240,  247,  276, 
320,  322,  326,  327,  335,  336, 
337,  343,  344,  347,  348,  366, 
373,  374;  letters  to,  14,  45, 
47,  51,  60,  64,  66,  69,  71, 
75,  76,  84,  90,  91 

Hurd,  Ruth,  18,  19;  engage- 
ment, 239;  letter  from,  200; 
letters  to,  21,  31,  134,  144, 
148,176,180,194,201,207, 
222,  227, 230,  234,  246,  257, 
322,  341 

Hurd,  Sally,  16,  323,  335;  last 


illness,     336;     death,     337; 

letters  from,  44,  163,  247 
Hurd,  Thomas,  347 
Hurd,  Thompson,  16 

I  AGO,  Cooke  as,  352 

Ignace,  mulatto  leader,  84,  87 

Imagination,    dangers    of   the, 

189,  230 
Immortality,     100,    176,    187, 

192,  216,  221,  222,  223,  234, 

236,  241,  261,  268,  293,  329, 

331,  336,  382,  383 
Introduction,  xvii-xx. 
"Italian,"  novel  called  the,  141 

JACKSON,  Dr.  James,  339,  364 

Jackson,  Miss,  333 

Jackson,  Mr.,  367 

Jefferson,  President,  82 

Jenks,  Miss,  message  to  blue- 
eyed,  185 

Jones,  Mrs.,  ingenuous  simplic- 
ity of,  227 

Johnson,  Boswell's  Life  of,  280, 
347 

Johnson,  Dr.  Samuel,  159,  191, 
266;  his  "Rasselas,"  265; 
letter  to  his  mother,  348 

Journal,  is  it  well  to  keep  a,  173 

Journals,  154-156,  168-174, 
204,  217,  218,  241,  242,  244, 
249,  250,  251,  258,  259 


[402] 


INDEX 


KAMES,  essay  on  Criticism  by,      Leighton,  Miss  (see  Lee,  Mrs. 

Elizabeth),  128 
Letter- writing,  134,  149,  183 
Library,  the  Boston,  147 
Life,  uniformity  of,  207 
Lounger,  the,  147,  150 
Lowell,  Anna  Cabot,  167,  168, 
177,  203,  209,  333,  338,  339, 
347,    359,    381;  poems   by, 
359 

Lowell,  Judge,  167 
Lowell,  Mr.,  367 
Lowell,  Susan  Cabot  (see  Gor- 
ham,  Mrs.  Susan  C.  Lowell), 
147,150,166,167,  195,197, 
199,    347;   letters   to,    166, 
197,  203,  207,  209,  212,  216, 
218,  220,  226,  227,  229,  232, 
233,  234,  236, 237,  238,  239, 
244,  245,  248,  252,  257,  323 
Lowell,  Mrs.  Susan  Cabot,  167 
Lyman,  Mr.,  41 
Lyttelton,  Lord,  book  by,  214 


122 
King  Richard,  Cooper  as,  220; 

Cooke  as,  356 
Klopstock,  Mrs.,  211 
Klopstock,  147,  211 
Knapp,  Mr.,  145 
Knight,  Betty,  17,  284 
Kotzebue,  quotation  from,  340 

LACOUR,  "Histoire  de  Guade- 
loupe" by,  50,  87 

Lacrosse,  General,  40,  46,  50, 
69,76 

Lambert,  Madame  (see  Marci- 
lius,  Madame  Lambert),  76, 
217 

Lancaster,  charms  of,  183 

Landeville,  M.  and  Madame, 
51,  52 

Lavater,  quotation  from,  285, 
288 

Lawrence,  Miss,  praise  of,  1 84 ; 
mention  of,  269 

Lee,  Captain,  message  to,   151 

Lee,  Mrs.  Elizabeth,  128,  131, 
138,  143;  letters  from,  133, 
on  society,  139,  213;  letters 
to,  132,  135,  137,  142,  143, 
150,  162,  181,  198,  206,  213, 
224 

Lee,  Mrs.  Henry,  339 

Lee,  Mr.,  356 

Lee,  Thomas,  143,  144 


MAHOMET,  on  the  sense  of 
smell,  184 

Maitland,  General  Frederic,  96 

Manse,  the  Old,  125 

Marcilius,  Madame  Lambert 
(see  Madame  Lambert),  76, 
217 

Martin,  "Philosophical  Gram- 
mar" by,  217 

Massillon,  quotation  from,  155 


[403] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 


Mead,  Rev.  Mr.,  14 
Medici,    Lorenzo   di,   Roscoe's 
Life  of,  141 


Nature,  Studies  of,  247 
Navigateur,  Gessner's  Premier, 
133 


Melancholy,   on   the   fault    of     Newton,  Letters  of  John,  172 


indulging,  106,  146,  221 
Memory,  Rogers'  Pleasures  of, 

384 

Merrick,  Mr.,  344,  345 
Merrick,  Mrs.,  344 
"Messiah,"  Klopstock's,  147 
Metaphysics,    Miss   Emerson's 

love  of,  119,  223 
Milton,  John,  "Paradise  Lost" 
by,   114;  religious  teaching 
of,  174,  175 
Minot,  Stephen,  house  sold  by, 

326 

"Minstrel,"  Beattie's,  319 
Minstrel,    Lay    of    the    Last, 

praise  of,  248 
Money,  on  love  of,  160 
Montesquieu,  words  on  sensibil- 
ity by,  226 

Moonlight  evening,  139,  141 
Montgomery,  James,  poems  by, 

254,  256 

Moravians,  on  the,  97,  1 52,  21 0 
Morning,  on  the  early?  180,  183 
Morton,    P.,   to   be  Attorney- 
General,  347 

N.,  accusation  of,  131 
Nash,  Mr.,  350,  362,  363 
Nature,  love  of,  127,  134,  189, 
190,  197 


Newton,    Mrs.    Susan  (Tyng), 

313,  314,  320 
New  Year,  resolutions  for  the, 

161 
Niagara,  Miss  Emerson's  letter 

about,  245 
North,  James   W.,  History   of 

Augusta  by,  246,  291 
North,  Mrs.   Hannah   (Flagg), 

5,  245,  246 

North,  General  William,  246 
Norton,     Professor     Andrews, 

letter  to,   by  D.  A.  White, 

104 

OSSIAN,  on  the  beauties  of,  138, 

139 
Othello,  Cooper  as,  220 

P.,  Mary,  improvement  in,  227 

P.,  Mr.,  different  opinions  con- 
cerning, 195 

Paine,  Mrs.,  house  bought  by, 
326 

Parker,  Mr.,  321 

Parsons,  Mr.,  321 

"Paradise  Lost"  read  by  Miss 
Emerson,  114 

Pelage,  Magloire,  46,  50,  51, 
62,  64,  78,  88 

Phillips,  Madam,  283 


[404] 


INDEX 


Phillips,  William,  364,  366 
Pickering,  Mr.,  269 
Pickering,  Senator,  353,  362 
Pickman,  Mr.,  362,  363 
Pitson,  Hannah,  8,  392 
Pitson,     Hannah    (see    Flagg, 

Hannah  Pitson),    8,    9,    10, 

392 

Pitson,  James,  8,  392 
Poets,  devotional  influence    of 

the,  175 
Poets,  Johnson's  Lives  of  the, 

159 
Politeness,  benevolence  allied 

with,  228 
Popkin,    Rev.    John    Snelling, 

264,  273 
Port-Folio,    obituary    of    Mrs. 

White  in  the,  385-388 
Portraits,  the  Flagg,  8,  11,  320 
Poverty,  on  relief  of,  231 
Pownal,  Governor,  7 
Prayer,  169,  229,  257,  351 
Prayer  for  the  dead,  1 70 
Prayer,  intercessory,  229 
Prayers,    58,    156,    204,    250, 

259;  by  Mrs.  Hurd,  157 
Prayer-book,  Church   of  Eng- 
land, use  of,  172 
Prescott,  Mr.,  367 
Providence,   a   directing,  172, 

173,  343;   a  protecting,  32, 

192,  280,  323 
Pythagoras,  system  of,  206 


RADCLIFFE,  Mrs.,  novels  of,  23, 

141 
Rapallo,  Mrs.,  reminiscences  by, 

4,5,7,10,15,26,  38,43,94, 

388 
"Rasselas,"    the   beauties   and 

merits  of,  265,  266 
Ratcliffe,    Dr.,   his   opinion  of 

colds,  287 

Red-breast,  to  protect  the,  1 80 
Renard,  M.,  hospitality  of,  68 
Repertory,  the,  150 
Richardson,     Mrs.     Barbauld's 

Life  of,  211 
Richebois,  M.,  6l,  71 
Richepance,  General,    77,  84, 

85,  86,  96 

Rio  Janiero,  yellow  fever  at,  82 
Ripley,  Daniel,  115,  209 
Ripley,    Rev.  Ezra,    115,   125, 

170,    171,    288,    320,    374; 

letter  to,  53-55 
Ripley,  Rev.  Lincoln,  115 
Ripley,  Rev.  Samuel,  115 
Ripley,    Mrs.    Samuel,    letters 

from,  118,  119 
Ripley,    Sarah,    90,   115,    125, 

208,  209,  263,  269, 277,  298, 

347 ;  letter  from,  to  M.  Emer- 
son, 243 ;  letters  to,  126, 183, 

232 

Rising,  on  the  evils  of  late,  1 69 
Roads,  on  travelling  over  bad, 

165 


[405] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 


Roche,  Madame  De  La,  38 
Rockwood,  Ebenezer,  107;  let- 
ters to,   109,  136,  151,  159, 
193,  195 
Rogers,  Abner,  220,  230,  239; 

letter  to,  221 

Romance,  the  Sicilian,  141 
Romane,  Madame,  visit  to,  71 
Roscoe,    Life    of    Lorenzo    di 

Medici  by,  141 
Russell,  James  Russell,  167 

S.,  Mrs.,  207 

Sabbath,  writing  letters  on  the, 

302,  356,  358 

Saints,  communion  of,  201,  202 
Saurin,  Rev.    Jacques,  sermon 

on  transient  devotion,  261 ; 

on  the  fear  of  God,  267 
Schalkwyck,  Antoine  Van,  25, 

26,  27,  28,  37,  38,  39,  80; 

letters    from    Mary    Wilder, 

29;  Madame  Courcelle,   39; 

Henry  Wilder,  41 ;  to  Henry 

Wilder,    42;    marriage,    39; 

death,  60-63 ;  obituary,  84 
Schalkwyck,   Baron   Van,    27; 

letter  from,  28 
Schalkwyck,    Mrs.    Mary    Van 

(see     White,      Mrs.      Mary 

Wilder) 
Scott,  Sir  Walter,  "Lay  of  the 

Last  Minstrel,"  248 
Searle,  Catherine  (Caty),  318, 

340,  342 


Searle,  Fanny,  315,  324,  342, 
377 ;  letter  from,  describing 
Mrs.  White,  31 6;  letters  to, 
335,  339,  382 ;  poem  by,  382, 
383 

Searle,  Lucy,  318 

Searle,  Margaret  (see  Curson, 
Mrs.  Margaret),  317,  318, 
381;  letter  to,  333;  letters 
from,  318,  324,  384,  385 

Searle,  Mrs.,  314,  315,  317 

Sedgwick,  Mr.,  321 

Selfridge,  trial  of,  267 

Senate,  Massachusetts,  a  wasp's 
nest,  345 

Senate,  President  of  Massachu- 
setts, 352,  353,  362 

Sensibility,  on  the  value  of,  22, 
124 

Serizidt,  General,  76,  78,  85, 
86,96 

SeVigne,  Madame  de,  quotation 
from,  31 

Sewall,  Mr.,  321 

Shakespeare,  characters  of,  220, 
354,  357;  quotations  from, 
151,  177 

Sherlock,  sermon  by,  171 

Shroud,  Mary  Emerson's,  117 

Silence,  charm  of  social,  285, 
288 

Simmons,  letter  to  Rev.  George 
Frederick,  118 

Simple,  David,  183 

Smell,  the  sense  of,  184,  384 


[406] 


INDEX 


Smith,  Miss,  Memoir  of,  342 
Snow-storm,  heavy,  359-362 
Society,  follies  and  defects  of, 

136,    139;   in    Salem,    160; 

Portsmouth,  200 
Socinian,  175,  200 
Soley,  Miss,  128,  138 
Solitude,  on  the  advantages  of, 

127,  154,  165 

Sorrow,  sympathy  and,  254 
Spence,  Harriot,  318 
Spring,  the  charms  of,  162,  1 80, 

197,  212 
Spy,  the  British,  quotation  from, 

150 
Stage-coach,  journeys  in,  165, 

206,  218 
Stepmother,      Mrs.     Hurd     a 

model,  15,  16,  337 
"St.  Leon,"  Godwin's,  122 
Stuart,  Mrs.  Bromfield's  portrait 

by,  99 

Sullivan,  John,  365 
Sullivan,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Richard, 

365 

Sully,  great  qualities  of,  137 
Sunsets,  beautiful,  127,  143, 

190,  197,  219,  336 


TERRITORY,  beautiful  Western, 

151 
Thacher,  Mrs.  S.,  good  sense  of, 

227 
Thatcher,  Colonel,  364 


Theatre,  on  attending  the,  163, 

220,  354,  357 

Thompson,  Mr.,  death  of,  239 
Thompson,  Mrs.,  loneliness  of, 

239 ;  death  of,  349 
Thomson,  James,  poems  of,  1 60, 

175,318 

Thoreau,  Mrs.,  172 
Thorndike,  Colonel,  363,  364 
Ticknor,    Mrs.    George,    about 

sitting  up  for  company,  313 
Time,    improvement   of,     156, 

182,  188 

Times,  a  Tale  of  the,  158 
Toppan,  Mr.,  coaster,  308 
Topsfield,  night  in,  36 1 
Tracy,  Mrs.   Thomas,   99    (see 

Bromfield,  Ann) 
Tree,  balm-of-Gilead,  102 
Tronquier,  M.  and  Madame,  49, 

51 
Tyng,  Susan  (see  Newton,  Mrs. 

Susan),  313,  314,  320 

• 

UDOLPHO,    Mysteries    of,    24, 
141 


VACCINATION,  five  hundred  cases 

of,  379 

Vale,  Bromley,  167 
Vale,  Elm,  116 
Vergnies,  Dr.,  338,  346,  366, 

370 
Vibert,  Captain,  63 


[407] 


MARY  WILDER  WHITE 


Voltaire,  reference  to  letter  by, 

171 
Vose,  Mrs.,  350 

WAITE,  Mrs.,  114 
Walker,  Mrs.  Martha,  26 
Wall-flower,  merits  of  the,  180 
Warren,  Dr.,  356,  365 
Washington,  George,  82,  212 
Waterford,  Emerson  home  in, 

115,  116 

Watson,  works  of,  214 
Weather,  influences  of  the,  142, 

163 

West,  Mrs.,  novel  by,  158 
Whip-poor-will,  the,  141 
White,  Daniel  Appleton,  220, 
242-244,  246,  247,  250,  251, 
253,  258,  319,  320,  322,  324, 
345 ;  genealogy  of,  392 ;  en- 
gagement,   251;     marriage, 
311 ;  letters  from,  253,  259, 
264,  267,  269,  272,  274,  277, 


356,  357,  358,  359,  360,  368, 
369, 370 

White,  Harriet,  patient  sweet- 
ness of,  202 

White,  Hazen,  353,  354 

White,  Mrs.  Hazen  (see  Frink, 
Isabella),  354 

White,  Mrs.  Mary  Wilder, 
birth,  13;  childhood,  13-15, 
18-20;  youth,  23-26;  en- 
gagement, 26,  and  marriage 
to  Mr.  Van  Schalkwyck,  39 ; 
voyage  to  Guadeloupe,  45; 
loss  of  brother,  53;  loss  of 
husband,  6l ;  fevers,  67,  69, 
91,  198,  274;  engagement  to 
Daniel  Appleton  White,  251 ; 
marriage,  311;  children,  323, 
334,  349;  loss  of  child,  327; 
illness,  346,  etc ;  death,  380 ; 
descriptions  of,  and  tributes 
to,  5,  19,28,  154,  316,  324, 
381-388 


279, 281,  283,  286,  287,  289,  White,  Elizabeth  Amelia,  born, 

290,  291,  292,  293,  294,  295,  334;  338,  340,  342 

297,  299,  301,  304,  306,  307,  White,  Mary  Elizabeth,  birth, 

309,  320,  325,  329,  330,  350,  323 ;  death,  327 

352,  355,  358,  36 1,  362,  363,  White,  Mary  Wilder  (see  Foote, 

364,  365,  366,  367,  368,  369,  Mrs.  Mary  Wilder),  57,  153, 

370,   375;    letters    to,    251,  349,  354 

255,  260, 271,  274,  276,  280,  Whiting,  Mr.,  20 

282,  284,  286,  288,  290,  292,  Wilder,  Henry,  4,  35,  102,  103, 

294,  296,  298,  300,  302,  303,  107 ;  letters  from,  34,  35,  41, 

305,  308,  324,  328,  329,  330, 

338,  342,  346,  351,  354,  355, 


45,  52 ;  death,  53 ;  obituary, 
83;  tributes,  55-59 


[408] 


INDEX 


Wilder,  Dr.  Josiah,  birth,  1 ; 
marriage,  1 ;  death,  2 ;  char- 
acter of,  2,  3;  death  of,  3, 
126;  genealogy  of,  391 

Wilder,  Mrs.  Josiah  (see  Hurd, 
Mrs.  Polly) 

Wilder,  Maiy  (see  White,  Mrs. 
Mary  Wilder) 

Winter,  severity  of,  159,  161 

Wollstonecraft,  Mary,  111,  123 


Women,  neither  Amazons  nor 

babies,  123 

Woods,  lost  in  Concord,  238 
Woods,  walks  in  Sudbury,   198 

YEAR,  resolutions  for  the  New, 

161 

Year,  the  Old,  162,  340 
Young,    Rev.  Edward,  "Night 

Thoughts"  of,  114,  175 


[409] 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY TAC.L.TY 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


SRLF 
OL 

KE"CT)  LD-URL 

NO  V  28  1988 


NON-RENElMABLE 


A     000106703     2 


-  ? 


